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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26912020">A Secret Chord</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smuffly/pseuds/Smuffly'>Smuffly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>CSI: NY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Banter, Childhood Trauma, Family, Friendship, Humour, Little-used characters from Season 2, Moral Dilemmas, Original Character(s), Past and Present, Whole team mystery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:22:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>107,092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26912020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smuffly/pseuds/Smuffly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One by one, children are disappearing.  Is there something that ties all these cases together?  </p><p>A team fic set in early season two, featuring Adam with Lindsay and Mac.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There are two different strands to this story.  The more recent one takes place during Season Two, before the episode 'Bad Beat', where Adam first appears.  As for the earlier one - well, I'm sure you'll work it out.</p><p>Of all the stories I have written, this is one of my favourites.  I really hope you enjoy it.  Updates will be very regular, since it is already complete.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Thomas watched the whole thing through the window.</p><p>He had seen the two boys before.  They came to the bus stop opposite the house every day; sometimes racing each other and only just on time, sometimes early and standing apart as though they barely knew each other - yet it was clear they were brothers.  The older one was stocky, with a heavy scowl that dared the world to cross him.  The young one was quiet and wary.  Both had a mop of chestnut curls, untamed and - Thomas suspected - quite untameable.</p><p>For the first few weeks, he had only noticed them in passing; an accidental glimpse as he lifted his gaze from the piano keys.  But working from home meant that days were long and distraction was an ever-present issue.  The view from his window became addictive, like a haunting piece of music or a gripping novel.  He found himself sitting down at the piano ahead of time, mug of coffee abandoned on the high pile of sheet music at his side, staring through the window with an air of guilt-ridden fascination, as his fingers roamed the keys in a vague attempt to prove that he was still working.  A story was playing out in front of him; vivid snatches that only left him wanting more.</p><p>And then it happened.</p><p>Something in the young boy's world had unsettled him today.  His head was low and his foot kicked the dirt at the side of the road, firing it into the air all around him.  He wore the same clothes as yesterday; a Superman t-shirt and a pair of over-sized jeans, lashed to his waist with a belt and rolled up at the ankles.  Their tired state implied that they had belonged to someone else, not so very long ago.  The boy standing next to him, perhaps. </p><p>That delightful specimen of youth was staring down the road with a sullen, hangdog expression when, all at once, an errant stone flew up and stung his knuckles.  He turned and grabbed his brother by the shoulders, shoving him backwards.  The little boy stumbled and fell in a cloud of dust.  His mouth flew open in shock but no sound came out.  Instead, he scrambled backwards to a safe distance and sat there, rocking on the ground with his arms around his knees.  The small head drooped even lower until the only thing visible was a burning pair of blue eyes, red around the edges and scowling at the grubby tips of his sneakers.</p><p>Folding his arms and feigning satisfaction, even though he was clearly rattled by the intensity of his brother's distress, the older boy turned his back and stared down the road as though nothing was wrong.  Now and then, he risked a glance behind him but the little boy never noticed - or at least, he chose not to.  All this time, no words had passed between them.</p><p>What to do?  Both boys would be horrified to learn that their actions were being observed, yet Thomas, full of sympathy for the little victim, felt a strong urge to intervene.  His problem appeared to be solved when the school bus finally trundled into view, crawling out of the heat haze like an ugly yellow dinosaur, one hot summer away from extinction.  The older boy stepped forward, holding out his hand to halt the bus.  The little boy leapt to his feet and dove, head first, into the scrubby bushes that lined the road.</p><p>Thomas watched with bated breath, all pretence at work abandoned, as the bus crawled to a halt in front of his window.  It was full of lively, chattering heads; happy children on their way to a happy day at school.  Climbing on board with haste, the older brother spoke to the driver for a moment and then made his way to the back where his friends were waiting.  With a sickly roar, the bus moved on.</p><p>A pair of wide eyes followed its progress from the bushes.</p><p>When the little boy judged that he was safe, he clambered out again with some difficulty, snagging his jeans in the process and ripping a hole in the left leg.  His thin face was jubilant at first but, as he continued to watch the bus dwindle away down the road and slip back through the hazy cloak that circled his small world, his chin began to wobble and his eyes grew even wider, glassy with tears, like two blue marbles.  No one could see him - and now it was safe to cry.  Tilting his head back, he howled his distress to the open sky; a lonely child with nobody to help him.</p><p>Resolve set in like a burst of adrenaline, fiery and unstoppable.  Before he could think too deeply about the consequences of his action, Thomas left his stool, his door and his house behind and walked across the wide grey road to the child that needed him.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Jason couldn't say exactly what it was that woke him.  All he knew was that, suddenly, he found himself staring up at the ceiling, watching the sliding patches of light that meant a car was passing by outside.  The room felt cold and lonely - and <em>wrong</em> somehow.</p><p>"Roo?" he whispered, straining his ears for the sound of her breathing.  She must have snuggled deep beneath the covers tonight because he couldn't hear a thing.  "Roo?" he tried again, a little more urgently this time.</p><p>No reply.  With a shiver, Jason poked his toes out into the freezing air.  The carpet that managed to cover two-thirds of the floor was old and thin.  Setting his feet down, he gave a little squeak of shock.  He dragged the quilt from his bed and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cloak.  It was far too long, of course, and the tail end slithered behind him with a satisfying noise as he made his way to his sister's bed on the opposite side of the room.</p><p>But Roo wasn't there.</p><p>Her own quilt lay on the floor in a jumbled heap.  The empty bed was pale and exposed, the white sheet gleaming through the darkness like a ghost.  Reaching out, he stroked it curiously.  The deep hollow worn by her body was warm to the touch.  She had gone to the bathroom, then.  That had to be it and, of course, she'd be back any minute.  Jason smiled.</p><p>Climbing up, he pulled both quilts around him and sat on her bed, cross-legged, his eyes fixed on the crack of light that framed the Door as he waited for his sister to return.  When he was very young, they often used to snuggle together for comfort and warmth.  Now that Roo was older, and Jason too, she liked to discourage him, saying quite firmly that big boys belonged in their own beds.  Tonight, however, he was cold and a little bit scared, all alone in the dark.  Surely she would understand?  He yearned for the comfort of her arms.  Time passed, and he began to wonder why she was taking so long.</p><p>"Roo," he breathed, and this time it was more of a whimper.  Jason knew.  He knew exactly what he had to do and it frightened him.</p><p>He had to go and find her.</p><p><em>No, </em>said the big black Door.  <em>You can't go past me.</em>  The cracks around it were so bright that when Jason looked away, he could still see a glowing shape painted on the air, like an empty frame.  He watched it fade, wishing that Roo's face would pop up inside it; a living picture.  That was the game they used to play, when neither one of them could sleep.  But the room, like the frame, was empty and when the magic light had faded, Jason took a deep breath and slid down from the bed.  "I'm going," he told the Door.  "An' you can't stop me."</p><p>He stumbled towards his foe.  Rules were rules, but this was important.  He wasn't supposed to leave the room - like a baby, he couldn't control himself and still wore pull-ups at night - but what if Roo was hurt somewhere, and all alone?</p><p>Reaching out, he found the handle in the darkness.  It was cold and stung his hand but he clung to it tightly and dragged it downwards.  The Door swung over his toes, scraping the bare skin and making him jump.  "Ow!" he cried out, and then froze.  He listened intently, but no one had noticed the sound.  Mommy was snoring in the Big Room; little piggy snores that stopped and started with a gurgle.  Daddy was quiet - but then, he always was.</p><p>Jason crept past the Door with a shudder.  As he tiptoed down the hallway, he could feel it behind him, watching sternly like a Cop.  Every timid step took him further away from the place where he was meant to be.  But Roo was meant to be there too, and Jason couldn't bear Not Knowing any longer.  He clenched his little fists and headed for the bathroom.</p><p>She wasn't there either.</p><p>He tugged on the light switch and stared at the gleaming white sink.  He checked the bath and the wash-basket.  He even peered down the toilet, though he couldn't say why.  The room was empty.  It smelled of disinfectant, just the way Mommy liked it.  Jason saw his own face in the mirror, white and scared, and watched his bottom lip begin to quiver.  <em>Where was Roo?</em></p><p>Padding out of the bathroom, he tried not to cry but, already, big fat tears were squeezing out of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.  He wondered where they came from and why they always made him feel so sad.  Wiping the first few away with his hand, he ventured even further.  Every step felt like a new crime.  When he poked his head into the living room, he stopped in shock.</p><p>The Front Door was open.</p><p>That was the worst crime of all, especially at night.  Had Mommy done it?  Or - Jason started to panic - surely not Roo?  He trembled to think of the trouble they'd be in.  Outside, the darkness was blacker than ever, a Nothing world.  It swallowed the lobby completely.  A hundred monsters could be waiting there to gobble him up and Jason would never see them until it was too late.</p><p>His hands clutched his mouth and he screamed in silence as a shape detached itself from Nothing and staggered through the doorway.</p><p>"Jason," a voice growled.  "What are you doing there?"</p><p>He shook his head and backed away.  The Monster was angry.  Its claws reached out for him and they were red.  There were scratches on its face - and the face was familiar.</p><p>"Daddy?" he whispered.  "Where's Roo?"</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Thomas reached the little boy and halted, awkwardness filling the space between them.  He crouched down, trying to lessen the towering impact of his lanky frame.</p><p>"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.  Stupid, useless question but really, what else could he say?  "My name's Thomas.  What's your name?" One cliché may as well follow another.  He stared, and then told himself off for staring - but looking away felt worse, like some kind of insult.  Thomas sighed.  So much for being the perfect Good Samaritan.  "No; never mind all that," he offered at last.  "You don't need to tell me who you are.  I just want to help you, if I can.  I saw what happened."</p><p>The boy was a mess.  His eyes were almost blind with tears and he turned his back on Thomas, clearly ashamed of his weakness.  "I'm fine," he mumbled.  His voice was quiet too, and hesitant, almost as though every word was a challenge that needed to be overcome.</p><p>Thomas laughed out loud.  Call it nerves, but he simply couldn't help himself.</p><p>"Oh, come on now," he said.  "Of course you're not."</p><p>"I'm not a liar," the little boy whispered, stung by the implication.</p><p>"That's not what I meant."  Thomas hastened to reassure him, seeing the hurt on his face.  "The thing is...  You're trying to be brave and really there's no need.  Sometimes, it' alright to be unhappy."</p><p>The boy gave a wobbly sigh and sat down in the dirt.  Nothing ventured, Thomas thought, and sat down beside him.</p><p>"You sound funny."  Two wet eyes blinked at him.</p><p>"I know."  Thomas nodded solemnly.  "Sharp, aren't you?  That's because I'm not from Phoenix.  I'm from London.  You know where that is?"</p><p>"Yes," the boy said, full of sudden pride.  He dragged a fist across his filthy cheeks, first one and then the other.  "London's the capital of Eng-er-land."</p><p>"Very good."  Thomas nodded.  "Clever boy.  Ever been there?"</p><p>"Course not.  That's a silly question.  I live here."</p><p>"Yes, you do," the man said softly.  He wriggled with discomfort.  The sun was a stern eye, searing the back of his neck.  "Look, can I take you to your house or something?"  There was no way he could leave the child at the side of the road in such a state - which meant that he had two options.  This was the least unsettling for all concerned, or so he thought until he saw the closed look that slid down over the young boy's face.</p><p>"There's no one home."  The lie burned brightly on the boy's cheeks and he ducked his head, full of shame.  Thomas saw, and wondered... and made a choice.</p><p>"If you say so.  Hungry?" he asked in a nonchalant tone.</p><p>The scruffy head shook imperceptibly.</p><p>"No thanks," the boy whispered, biting his lip.  Another reluctant lie?</p><p>"Okay."  Thomas tried again.  "Like music?"</p><p>"Oh!" the boy said, and this time his head shot up.  "Oh, yes.  I mean, I do."  Like a match to a piece of paper, the words lit a fire in his eyes.  Thomas gave a wide grin and clambered to his feet, brushing the dust from his jeans.</p><p>"Come on, then," he said, with his hand outstretched.  He didn't expect a response but, to his surprise, the boy took it, slipping his damp fingers into the larger palm with sudden confidence.  Together, they walked across the road and up the path in friendly silence.  When they reached the open door, the little boy tugged on the tall man's hand, pulling him down as he whispered a precious secret.</p><p>"Mister Thomas?  My name's Adam."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Mac Taylor was a man of instinct but he also knew from experience that first impressions could be deceptive.  Sometimes they filled you with gut-wrenching certainty.  Sometimes they confused you.  Sometimes they sent you hurtling off in the wrong direction, reluctant to change course; a dog with the flash of a bobtail in its sight.  Over the years, Mac had learned to temper the trait, first with duty and then with science.  Even so, he could still be thrown off guard and tonight was a prime example.</p><p>Meeting Paul Eggar for the first time, he found himself tensing like a rookie face to face with his first real criminal.  One look at that florid face and those arms - whip-thin with knots for muscles - caused his jaw to clench and his lips to press together in a hard line as he fought to hold back all signs of his repulsion.  Eggar was a type, and an obvious one.  The urge to believe in his guilt straight away was overwhelming.  Tempted by an easy option, Mac forced himself to stay objective.  First impressions weren't his remit.  His team was here for the evidence.</p><p>In a Brooklyn neighbourhood that was reasonably well-to-do, this particular ground floor apartment was sizeable and clean, yet sparsely furnished as though its tenants had seen better days and were slowly selling off their comforts one by one.  Pretty soon, they would have nothing left but the bare essentials - and each other.  Mac wondered what it was that held this family together - warmth and loyalty or cold obedience?  Watching the man who stood beside Detective Flack, he caught himself making another assumption, and frowned.</p><p>"Who's this now?"  Paul Eggar's voice was both soft and emphatic.  His pale, fishy eyes swivelled rapidly, fixing their gaze on Mac.  "Why are there so many cops in my home, wasting time on ridiculous questions?  You should be out there combing the city for my daughter.  Anything happens to her..."  He clenched his fingers, wincing sharply when the action seemed to cause him pain.</p><p>"Still keepin' that up?"  Don Flack folded his arms and faced Eggar down with a scornful expression that barely concealed his own anger.  "Has it somehow escaped your notice that you're the one in trouble here, Paul?  Believe me when I tell you, we're lookin' for Ruth, okay, and we're giving it all we got.  This whole city's on a full-scale AMBER Alert.  Of course, you could shorten our search if you told us where you left her - but then, I doubt you'll be doin' that any time soon." He shot a quick glance of acknowledgement in Mac's direction.  "Lucky for me, Detective Taylor has a way with evidence that means you don't have to say another word."</p><p>Three steps behind him, Mac heard Lindsay Monroe give a gasp as she passed through the front door and saw the ominous state of Paul Eggar.  Turning back, the detective raised his eyebrows in a private challenge: <em>You okay?</em>  On paper and in person, Lindsay gave the impression that she was an excellent CSI - her transcripts from Montana were bursting with praise - but here in his sandbox, she was the stranger on a team still reeling from the dismissal of Aiden Burn.  He had very little first-hand knowledge of her skills in the field; only a sense that he wanted to trust her.  He wanted it badly.  Aiden's behaviour had saddened him.</p><p>Eggar caught the gasp.  He shifted his pale eyes again, but Lindsay had already straightened her features and stared back impassively.  <em>Good, </em>thought Mac.  <em>Very good.</em>  The act was reassuring.  Now that Lindsay was fully in control, she let her calm gaze drift across the deep scratches on both of Eggar's cheeks; the blood on his clothes; his battered knuckles.  No reaction - not this time - but Mac could tell her sharp brain was cataloguing every detail.</p><p>"Paul Eggar," Flack said, turning his back on the suspect.  His tone was heavy as he began to fill them in, and his words lacked their usual levity.  Any humour that remained was false and slightly uncomfortable.  Scumbags who hurt kids were right at the top of Flack's 'no mercy' list.  "Seen by his five year old son, Jason, coming home covered in blood not half an hour ago.  His teenage daughter, Ruth, is missing.  <em>Eggar</em> states that he heard her leaving and followed her out.  His defence - get this - is that <em>she</em> attacked <em>him." </em> Scepticism burned in his eyes.  "Brought him down all by herself.  A thirteen year old girl, who then disappeared into thin air."</p><p>"Believe it.  I'm telling the truth," Eggar shrugged.</p><p>"Oh, I'll believe it when <em>he</em> proves it."  Flack ground the statement out between his teeth and stabbed a finger in Mac's direction.  "And if he does, Paul, that's when I'll start asking 'why'.  As in: 'why would a young girl attack her father?'  Any thoughts?</p><p>"Whatever happened between them, we'll prove it," Mac interjected quietly.  Flack took a deep breath and nodded.  "Right now, our top priority is finding Ruth."</p><p>"Thank you.  At last," Eggar crowed.  "A man who sees things my way."</p><p>"I like to think I see things exactly as they are, Mr. Eggar," Mac told him pointedly, staring at his swollen knuckles.  Eggar fell silent.</p><p>Setting down his kit, Mac turned to Lindsay.  Her face was expectant.  "Take the bedroom," he said.  "I'll stay here."   Lindsay nodded and left his side as Mac snapped the latches on his metal case.</p><p>Eggar flinched.  "What you got in there, anyway?"</p><p>Smiling grimly, it was Flack who replied.  "Answers, Paul.  And you better hope they match you statement - or that hole you've been diggin' for yourself?  It's gonna get real deep, <em>real</em> quick..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Lindsay stood in the middle of the children's room and looked around her.  Somewhere in this bare little sanctuary there might - no, there <em>had</em> to be a key to Ruth's behaviour.  Did the girl flee of her own accord?  Was there something more sinister going on?  Ruth wasn't there to explain herself, but with luck and good judgement, maybe Lindsay's search would uncover a clue that could help them.  <em>Help Ruth, </em>she corrected herself firmly, trying not to think about the worst case scenario in which Ruth was already far beyond their help.</p><p>Men who hurt children were monsters in her opinion.  They were her weakness; her Achilles' heel.  They threatened her equilibrium every time she encountered them.  <em>They</em> - for it was easier to use an impersonal plural - <em>they </em>were also the reason she was standing here today, a fully-fledged CSI, thousands of miles from home, trying to make sense of the tragedy that was someone else's life.</p><p>Ruth's bed was under the window, surrounded by neat piles that almost seemed to fence it in - notebooks, novels, her school bag, a battered laptop perched on a cardboard box.  Lindsay stepped towards the girl's domain, feeling oddly intrusive.  As she did so, a noise made her turn.  Standing in the doorway, she saw a small boy with a mop of dark hair and eyes so wide, they spoke to her directly.  <em>Who are you,</em> they demanded, <em>and why are you in my room?</em></p><p>What was the brother's name?  Oh, yes...  "Jason," she said, and his eyes grew even wider, as though she was some kind of magical creature who could read his mind.  <em>How did you know...?</em></p><p>"Jason, where's your mom?" Lindsay asked, moving forwards slowly.  Like a bird, he was a flight risk, and she didn't want to startle him.  His voice, when it finally came, was high and slightly breathless.  Her own chest ached in sympathy.</p><p>"In the kitchen with the cop lady.  But she's crying.  I'm s'posed to go to my room when she's crying."</p><p>Lindsay dropped down to his level.  She was close now; close enough to watch the urgent rise and fall of his skinny ribs beneath the Pokémon top.  "Does she cry a lot?"</p><p>"Mostly all the time," he whispered.</p><p>There was a lump in her throat.  She swallowed it.  "What about Ruth?  Does she cry too?"</p><p>Jason peered over her shoulder, into the bedroom.  "No," he said, with a vehement shake of his head.  "Not ever.  Roo looks after me.  We play games."</p><p>"That sounds like fun.  What games?"</p><p>"I like hide and seek."  Once again, he peered past Lindsay.  "I forgot..."  His little face looked stricken.  Lindsay longed to take him in her arms, as he hugged himself in a lonely quest for comfort.  "I forgot to look under the bed.  Is she hiding?"</p><p>Standing up once more, Lindsay reached out her hand.  Jason stared at it warily.  "Yes," she said.  "I think Roo's hiding, Jason.  But I'm afraid she's not under the bed."</p><p>"Did you look?"</p><p>"Yes, I looked."</p><p>"Oh..."  He turned away and stared down the corridor, grieving.  "I want Roo," he mumbled, so softly that she barely caught the words.</p><p><em>We'll find her.</em>  How she longed to make that promise.  "Look... let me take you back to your mom.  She'll be missing you," Lindsay said desperately, hoping she spoke the truth.</p><p>"Okay."  Resigned, the small boy slipped his hand into hers at last.  Lindsay tried to ignore the peculiar, curdling sense of guilt in her stomach as she led him away from the one safe place he knew, in search of his unhappy mother.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>The man called Thomas lived by himself in a cool, quiet house full of books and music.  Adam was astonished.  "Don't you have a mommy or a daddy?" he asked with deep concern, as he stood in the front room and gazed at the great big piano that sat where a family couch ought to be.</p><p>Thomas gave a smile so wide, it almost split his face in half.  "I do."  He seemed to be telling a joke, one that Adam didn't really understand.  "We separated.  Irreconcilable differences.  In other words, we don't get along," he added plainly when Adam squinted in confusion.  "They live in London and I live here.  Much better for all concerned, to have an ocean in between us."</p><p>Adam scratched his dusty hair, deep in thought for a moment.  He liked the strange long words that Thomas used.  They teased him like a new discovery, begging to be understood.</p><p>"Diff-ren-ces.  That means you're not the same."</p><p>Thomas dropped into a lumpy armchair.  Now they were face to face.  "Exactly," he said, with a wink.  "Not the same at all, and thank goodness for that.  I sometimes think I must have been a changeling boy.  Switched at birth, you know, by the fairies."</p><p>That was where he lost Adam.  "Fairies aren't real."  The statement was bald and emphatic.</p><p>"Who says so?"</p><p><em>My daddy.  </em>Adam heard the words inside his head, and his lips pressed together.  A prickle of fear made him twitch as he came to his senses.  What was he doing?  He shouldn't be here.  When Charlie got back from school, there was going to be so much trouble.  Adam began to tremble.  He tried to hold onto the contents of his bladder and his cheeks grew red with the effort.  A sneaky tear rolled through the dirt on his face and clung to the end of his chin, afraid to let go when it realised how far it had to fall.</p><p>"'M sorry," Adam mumbled.  The tear wouldn't let go - but something else had.  The shame he felt was unendurable as the tell-tale stream leaked out past his turn-ups and soaked his shoes, sinking into the carpet around him.  Adam froze completely and closed his eyes, trying to hide from the anger he knew would be coming...</p><p>"Hey," said a quiet voice.  "Hey, little man.  It's okay."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Outside the Eggars' apartment block, Danny Messer turned to share an observation with Aiden and found only shadows at his back.  It had been weeks since she left, yet her absence was still disconcerting.  Full of belligerence, he scowled at the darkness and swallowed his words.  Thinking out loud was a poor substitute for the kind of witty brainstorming sessions he used to have with his partner - ex-partner, he corrected himself with a twist of his lips.  Mac and Lindsay were inside and he was the third wheel, trudging the streets all alone with a flashlight and a coat that was far too thin for the season.  Style over substance - not the kind of error in judgement he usually made.</p><p>Danny gave a weary sigh.  No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to get his head on straight these days.  Halting, he calmed himself down with a couple of long, slow breaths and tried to work out why that was.</p><p>"I'll tell you, okay?" he grumbled to an absent Mac.  "Too many changes."  The new lab was incredible and the new girl, Montana - well, she was something special too, but that didn't stop Danny feeling like the rug had been whipped out from under him.  He missed the warehouse - the slightly out-of-date technology that had made them work so much harder; the overhead pipes; the weird combination of old and new...  Everything seemed to have jumped several light years upmarket.  Even Sheldon Hawkes, the cheerful, mildly eccentric autopsy guy, had turned into some kind of boy-scout and was eagerly trying to prove himself to the boss.  The Crime Lab's centre of gravity had shifted overnight and now the whole world was upside down.</p><p>Most of all, though - and at the heart of everything - he missed Aiden like his own body would miss an arm or a leg, still aching for her company and almost believing that she was still there.  She hadn't just been his partner.  She was a friend.</p><p>A series of shouts made his head snap up and he shook himself out of his reverie.  <em>Not cool, Messer,</em> he thought.  Not cool at all.  A girl's life was on the line and he was <em>wallowing,</em> for pity's sake.  In the distance, a circle of lights contracted as the searching officers came together.  Clearly, they had found something.  Taking note of a broken fence post as a marker, Danny left his current spot and ran towards the swirling beams, his pounding heart keeping time with his urgent footsteps.  <em>Please God, no,</em> he prayed as he ran.  But the cops, when he reached them, were chattering freely and one or two had already turned away.  A body - especially the body of a young girl - would have invoked their respect and a sense of bitter desolation, clothed in silence.  Danny had seen it before, many times.</p><p>Something else, then.</p><p>He heard the woman long before he saw her, hidden as she was by the burly officers.  In no uncertain terms, she was berating them all for their rude behaviour.  Danny felt a tiny smile tug at his lips.</p><p>"Think you <em>men</em> would like it if a pack o' strangers burst into <em>your </em>bedroom, flashin' those lights in your face an' actin' like some kinda space invasion?" the husky voice demanded, full of righteous indignation.  "I ain't no supermodel type, but I need my beauty sleep, same as the rest of those girls."</p><p>"Ain't that the truth?" snickered one young officer, thinking he was safe, tucked away behind the others.  Danny favoured him with a look of pure disgust, as he finally caught a glimpse of the angry figure that went with the voice.</p><p>It was hard to distinguish the woman's age, bundled as she was in layer after layer of ugly, stain-stiffened clothing.  The smell that rose from her was foul yet, kindly, he ignored it as he pushed his way through to her side and smiled down at her.  She barely came to his shoulder, but he chose to treat her as though she were six feet tall and dressed in the best that Fifth Avenue had to offer.  "Sorry about that," he told her.  "We meant no harm."</p><p>"Says you," the woman sniffed.  Now that Danny was close, he could see that her skin, beneath the dirt, was smooth and her eyes were bright.  Young, then.  In the alley, stacked between two dumpsters, was her makeshift 'bedroom'.  New York City was struggling to cope with the rising number of homeless people on the streets.  Shelters were stretched far beyond their means and the overspill was alarming.  This woman, strong as she appeared to be, was still a bleak reminder of the blind spots in the system; the cracks through which people could fall.</p><p>"It's the truth," Danny said.  "We're lookin' for a girl, that's all.  She went missing tonight, and I'm wondering now if you saw something - maybe a scuffle?"  He flashed a winning smile in her direction, channelling Don Flack's charm as he tried to schmooze her into helping them.  The young woman frowned - and then giggled.  Her teeth were straight but yellow.</p><p>"You're a devil," she accused him.  "Sweet words and a crooked smile.  Okay, you got me."  Danny waited eagerly as she paused for effect, enjoying her chance to hold court in front of New York's finest.  "Scuffle, you say.  That ain't what <em>I'd </em>call it."</p><p>"Then you saw her," one of the officers interrupted.  She silenced him with a glare.</p><p>"Big Sister?  Yeah, I saw her, creepin' like a mouse.  Angry Man, he came right after her and he was demon-mad, I can tell you."  The young woman shook her head.  For a split second, Danny saw the flutter of an old fear in her eyes.  "Worst I've ever seen him.  Those kids - I pity them.  He tried to take her back home but she fought him."</p><p>"Who won?" Danny asked, releasing his pent-up breath in an urgent question.</p><p>"Can't say exactly how it went down.  Angry Man dragged her into the shadows.  Next thing I know, she's tearin' off down the street like she was on fire and aimin' for water.  That's when she got in the car - and they left."</p><p>"Say what?"  Danny's jaw dropped.  "Ruth got into a <em>car</em>?"</p><p>"Ain't that just what I've been tellin' you?"  Smugly, the young woman pointed.  "Right over there.  The way those tyres squealed, you can bet they left a mark.  Go an' look, if you don't believe me."</p><p>"Thank you," he said.  "Thank you <em>very </em>much."</p><p>"<em>Now</em> can I go back to sleep?" she called out as Danny turned to leave.  He chuckled softly.</p><p>"Sorry - no can do.  You're a witness.  Means you need to make a proper statement."  Catching her gaze with a knowing grin, he continued.  "Down at the precinct where it's nice and warm, and the coffee is way better than you'd expect for a humble cop shop.  They've got donuts too.  Think you can handle that?"</p><p>"Sneaky," the woman accused him.  Then she laughed out loud, and nodded.  "Flash me that smile again, mister, and I'll do anythin' you say."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Lindsay and Jason walked down the hallway in silence, hand in hand.  Just as the boy had described, she could hear muffled sobs coming from the kitchen.  He heard them too and, when she looked down, she saw his huge eyes staring up at her in trepidation.  <em>I don't want to...</em></p><p>"I'll go first," she offered.  "Wait here, okay, just behind me."</p><p>Pushing the door open, Lindsay stepped through.  With the simple logic of a five year old, Jason followed her instructions word for word and pressed against her, safe in her shadow and out of sight.</p><p>Two women looked up as she entered.  The female officer was doing her best to comfort Mrs. Eggar, who had collapsed on a stool and was shaking visibly, her thin hands masking her face.  Her robe was pale and threadbare, and her hair - bleached so often that it was lifeless - hung down her back in a tight braid.</p><p>Lindsay flashed her ID over Mrs. Eggar's head.  <em>Help me,</em> the officer mouthed in return.  Clearly, she had reached the limits of her patience, not to mention her counselling skills.</p><p>Lindsay nodded, very aware of Jason at her back.  "Mrs. Eggar?" she said quietly.  When there was no response, she tried again, in a firm voice this time.  "Mrs. Eggar, you need to calm down.  You're scaring your son."</p><p>"What...?  Jason?"  Mrs. Eggar raised a pair of eyes so red, they looked as though she had rubbed them raw with the salt from her own tears.</p><p>Jason was clutching Lindsay's jacket by now with his little fist.  She could feel it tugging.  "Yes," she said.  "He's here with me.  He needs you, Mrs. Eggar."</p><p>The thin woman gave a dry sob.  "I... I'm so sorry.  Ruth!" she blurted out hopelessly, calling for her absent daughter.  "What have I done?"</p><p>"We'll find her, Lauren," the officer said with false conviction.  Lindsay questioned the wisdom of her words, but not her intent, which was solely to comfort.</p><p>Jason peeped around her waist and, when his mother saw him, she spread her arms for a brittle hug.  He stumbled towards her and they clung to one another at last.  "Sorry, Jay-Jay," Lauren whispered into his hair.  "Mommy's sorry..."</p><p>Moving closer, Lindsay kept her voice gentle.  "Mrs. Eggar - do you know why Ruth left?  Can you tell us anything at all that might help us?"</p><p><em>Yes, </em>said the red-rimmed eyes, but: "No," said the frightened woman.  Behind her, the officer shook her head in disbelief but Lindsay thought she understood.  A life lived in fear was a life no better than a prison sentence - and who had the right to pass judgement on Lauren Eggar if they hadn't spent one sorry day in her shoes?</p><p>"It's okay," Lindsay said at last, placing her hand on the woman's trembling shoulder.  "You're safe now.  And we'll do everything in our power to try and find your daughter."  She locked eyes with Jason and willed him to understand the limitations of her promise.  "Hold onto your mom," she whispered softly, and the brave little boy gave a tiny nod of understanding far beyond his years.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>At school, when Adam embarrassed himself, he was marched to a cubicle and made to change into Nobody's clothes, the ugly, weird-smelling spare items held in the office for just such a crime.  Everyone saw them and everyone knew them.</p><p>Thomas had no such clothes.</p><p>He did have an old rugby top and some shorts with a drawstring, and a pair of thick red socks.  This was the colourful bundle he thrust into Adam's arms, swooping him into the bathroom and closing the door between them to give the young boy some privacy in his endeavour.</p><p>Adam stood on the wrinkled bathmat, curling his toes inside his wet sneakers and wondering what had just happened, exactly?  Was he in trouble or not?</p><p>"Bring your own clothes out here when you're ready," Thomas told him through the door.  "We can dry them in front of the fire, no problem.  If you want a towel, I've got some old ones in the cupboard... oh wait, you can't reach it..."  The cultured voice began to show signs of cracking.  Was he nervous?  Adam didn't understand at all.</p><p>"I'm okay," he said awkwardly.  "I can do it.  Thank you."</p><p>Outside the door, he heard the shuffle of uncertain footsteps, followed by the sound of Thomas moving away.  The tall man was muttering to himself but most of the words were indistinct.  Adam only caught a few.  'Com-pro-mising po-sition' meant nothing to him, but 'stupid'?  That one, he knew - and now he had his answer.</p><p>Thomas was angry.</p><p>Adam sank to the floor, still clutching his bundle, too wrung out to cry anymore.  He tried to get undressed but it was difficult.  Everything stuck to him, making him feel sick, until he was able to wrench himself free; first one sock and then the other, followed by his torn, wet jeans.  Exhausted by the effort, he sat on the mat for a while with his bare legs splayed out in front of him.  His gaze fell on the shorts, lying next to the pile of abandoned clothing - and suddenly he realised that he had a whole new problem.  Closing his eyes, he pulled his knees up to his chest and let out a tiny whimper.</p><p>Maybe, if he was really quiet, he could hide in the bathroom all day and people would forget about him...</p><p>All at once, Adam heard a new sound, drifting up the stairs from the room below.  Music like magic; the voice of the piano.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>"Trace Lab," said the cheerful young man, whose name was Zack... something.  This was Zack's final week on the job before moving to the private sector and, by some unknown miracle, Adam Ross, former grad student and full time geek, had become his stunned replacement.  Waving an airy hand as he strode down the corridor, Zack continued the whirlwind tour.  "Layout room.  Bullpen - that's Detective Bonasera, by the way.  If she likes you, she'll let you call her Stella."</p><p>"Does she... with you?" Adam ventured, snatching at the words.  His legs were shorter than Zack's and he was finding it hard to keep up.</p><p>Zack looked smug, but his grin was shifty around the edges.  "Yes, she does."  He crossed his fingers in a demonstration; Zack and Stella, thick as thieves.  "Give 'em what they need <em>before</em> they need it and they'll remember you.  That's my number one piece of advice."</p><p>Actually, it was the third 'number one' that morning, holding the top spot along with 'be on time' and 'watch out for Mac; he sneaks up on you'.  Zack was a willing guide but he didn't wait around long enough to check that the newbie was still with him - in person <em>or</em> in comprehension.  Adam's brain was stuffed with so much garbled information that he began to fear for his sanity.</p><p>"Okay," he nodded breathlessly, ticking off the list of names on his hand.  "Trace.  Layout.  Bullpen.  Stella Bonasera..."  Would he ever remember it all?  Over his shoulder and out of Zack's sight, he stole a second glance at the curly-haired detective.  Even with her head bowed over her desk, she was striking; just the kind of woman who would probably send him into stammering fits whenever he tried to talk to her.  Not the most encouraging observation.  Was it crazy to wish that the rest of his colleagues would turn out to be unremarkable like him?  Adam had put on his best 'grown up' shirt today in honour of his new job but that only made him feel like an actor playing a part - 'Adam the Criminalist', mature and responsible.  Underneath the bold shirt, he was shaking.  This was the Big League - and was he really ready for it?</p><p><em>Yes,</em> he told himself vehemently.  <em>You're every bit as good as the rest of them, okay?  All you have to do is pay attention and not Screw This Up.  Detective Taylor hired you for a reason.</em></p><p>Stella left her desk and swept past them on her way to somewhere urgent, judging by her stride.  She favoured Zack with a quick smile and tagged a bright one on the end for Adam, much to his surprise.  "Hello."</p><p>"Oh!  Um, hi...  Hello..."  Adam fumbled with the greeting, ducking his head, so that Stella was already halfway down the corridor by the time he noticed she had gone.  <em>Smooth, Adam.  Very smooth,</em> he sighed.  Zack pretended not to notice, which raised him up several notches in Adam's estimation.</p><p>Doubling back on themselves, they finished the tour at the AV Lab.  Adam peered through the glass with mounting excitement; a kid in a candy store with a pocket full of coins at last.  Zack laughed out loud.</p><p>"No prizes for guessing your speciality.  Come on, then.  Let's take a look inside."  He led the way, still talking.  "Me, I like things small.  I could take a speck of dust and tell you what it's made of; where it comes from...   What it had for breakfast."  The joke was bad but, this time, the laughter was inclusive.  Adam joined in.</p><p>"Enjoying yourselves?" said a wry voice behind them.</p><p>Spinning in shock, Adam found himself face to face with the Big Cheese - the Boss Man; Mac Taylor, Head of the New York Crime Lab.</p><p>Zack wasn't kidding, then.  This guy had serious ninja skills when it came to sneaking up on people.</p><p>"Yes.  I mean, no," he mumbled, trapped by Taylor's level gaze.  "I was just..."</p><p>"Getting the ten cent tour," Zack finished for him, much to his relief.  "What do you need, Detective Taylor?"</p><p><em>Ah,</em> said the rational part of Adam's brain, barely functioning right now but still able to spot that not even Zack the Bold would dare to play fast and loose with the name of <em>this</em> CSI.  'Detective', not 'Mac'.  Duly noted.</p><p>"What I could do with," Taylor said cryptically, much to their surprise, "is a thirteen year old girl to help me out."</p><p>"Not many of those around here," Adam giggled, and then wished he hadn't.</p><p>"Observant," his new boss agreed, with a mild expression on his face that Adam simply could not read.  "Here's another observation.  I seem to have two lab techs at a loose end this morning.  Which of you is going to volunteer?"</p><p>"Newbie," Zack said at once, and backed off smartly with his hands up.  There was a grin on his face, however, which Adam took to be an encouraging sign.  At least, he hoped it was.</p><p>"No problem, sir," he said brightly.  "I'm your 'girl'.  I mean..."  What <em>did </em>he mean?  His mind went blank as the Boss Man raised his eyebrows.</p><p><em>One week, </em>Adam decided, flinching.  That was how long he gave himself.  One week before they came to their senses and kicked him out.</p><p>"This way," the Boss Man said, turning to leave without any further explanation.  Adam shared a humorous look of dismay with Zack before scurrying after him.</p><p>One week - if he was lucky.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Mac Taylor had witnessed many variations on the theme of first day nerves but even he had to admit that this Adam Ross had it down to an art form.  Following close behind him, the young man kept up a rapid stream of inane conversation, barely drawing breath, his blue eyes bright and his high voice eager.  Mac tuned it out for the most part, nodding now and then, his mind fixed on other things.  It had been a long night and he was weary.  Two brief hours on the couch in his new office hadn't done much for his mood, which was tense to say the least.  Ruth Eggar was still missing and sleep was the least of his worries until they found her.</p><p>Entering Reconstruction, Mac was startled to witness a sudden and complete change in Adam's behaviour.  The jumble of words died away on the young man's lips and he crossed his hands in front of him, waiting for Mac to speak instead.  His face was attentive and his posture was relaxed.</p><p><em>There</em> was the person he hired.  <em>Thank goodness,</em> Mac thought, smiling at Adam, who smiled back happily.</p><p>"So," the young tech said.  "What's the plan?"</p><p>Mac gestured to a life-size dummy standing next to a soft mat, the kind that gymnasts used in their routines.  Nearby, Paul Eggar's blood-stained pyjamas were being modelled by a second figure.  To his own surprise, Mac gained a certain amount of wicked pleasure from watching the flow of Adam's thoughts on his open face.  The man was quick and it didn't take him long.</p><p>"Um, sir?" he ventured warily.  "I don't really think I'm the right..."</p><p>"Can you fight?" Mac asked.  "Do you have any training?"</p><p>"No," Adam said, looking worried.</p><p>"Good," Mac told him with a knowing grin.  "That's exactly what I need."</p><p>"Okay..."  Though he seemed dubious, Adam held his nerve.  "So then, I'm a thirteen year old girl.  And <em>this</em> is?"  He gestured to the dummy.</p><p>"Paul Eggar.  Your father."</p><p>Adam fell silent for a moment.  Then he glanced at Mac and his face was full of pity.  "What did he do?" the young man asked softly.</p><p>"Believe it or not, according to our suspect, it was a two-way struggle that Ruth won.  I need to find out how much of Eggar's statement is the truth and how much is..."</p><p>"Phooey?" Adam suggested.  "Sir," he added quickly.</p><p>"You don't have to..."  <em>Call me sir,</em> Mac finished in his head.  He had said as much to Lindsay when she started.  Why did it feel so different, coming from this man?  Changing the subject, he strode across to the nearby evidence bench and picked up the transcript of Eggar's official statement, made to Don Flack an hour ago while Mac was sleeping - no, make that <em>trying</em> to sleep.</p><p>"Follow me," he said to Adam and they approached the dummies together.  Taking Mac's direction, 'Ruth' stood on the mat in front of 'her' opponent, who was dressed in a pair of pyjamas that closely matched Eggar's own.  The dummy was tall and leaned forwards in a menacing way, made even more disconcerting by the fact that it had no face.</p><p>"Hi Dad," Adam muttered, clearly trying to lighten the mood.</p><p>Mac stood beside the dummy.  "First," he said, "Eggar ran after Ruth and grabbed her, swinging her round.  That much, we know from a witness as well."  He reached out and circled Adam's wrist gently with his own hand, acting on the dummy's behalf.  Adam stiffened but said nothing, waiting for his next instruction.  "Ruth scratched her father's face, left side."</p><p>"Like this?"  Adam lifted his free hand and raked his nails along the dummy's soft cheek.</p><p>"Exactly.  The marks are there and I swabbed them at the scene.  Blood from his face ran down to his collar."  Mac pointed to the corresponding marks on the nearby pyjama top.  Once again, Adam waited silently.  "Eggar dragged Ruth into the shadows..."  Mac tugged on Adam's wrist.  "Then, according to him, she scratched him again for no reason.  Right side, this time."  Dutifully, Adam obeyed.  "Trouble is," Mac continued - and now his face became grim - "Eggar's knuckles are covered in blood.  There was also a strand of hair caught in his wedding ring; not peroxide blonde like his wife, but dark like his children.  Like Ruth."  With a careful, sweeping movement, Mac sent his fists towards Adam - one, two.  Instinctively, the young man tried to duck but the second gentle blow still brushed his skull; the shadow of a threat.</p><p>"Oh!" he cried out, and then tried to tone down his reaction.  "I see - yes, you're right.  That'd do it.  Can you match the hair and the blood to Ruth?"</p><p>Mac stepped back a little to give him some breathing space.  "We have her toothbrush.  Think you can handle that yourself when we're done here?"</p><p>"Yes, of course."  Adam straightened, composing himself.  "So, what happened next?" he asked curiously.</p><p>"That's what I want to work out."  Mac gestured to the pyjamas again; in particular to a random smear of dirt on the lower leg.  "Eggar clammed up at this point and refused to go into detail - either he's embarrassed or he's hiding something worse than defeat.  I have an idea but I need to match this mark.  Hand me those shoes from the bench."  He was gratified by the fact that Adam obeyed straight away.  With a gleam in his eye, Mac picked up a bottle and sprayed red dye all over the soles and the sides.  "Now put them on.  I'd say they're about your size."</p><p>"Very nice."  Adam grinned as he took them, and removed his own footwear.  "New job, new shoes.  Not really my style, but thanks, boss..."  Leaving the laces open and tucking the ends out of sight, he managed to squeeze his feet into the generic sneakers while Mac laid down a plastic sheet to protect the mat.  When he was ready, Adam bent to study the mark on Eggar's clothing.  "I think I see where you're going with this.  Can I...?"</p><p>"Be my guest."  Mac watched him closely as he stepped up to the dummy again.  "Okay now; you're Ruth."  Dutifully, Adam clutched his head where Mac had 'punched' him.  "Your dad is bigger than you and you have to get away.  What do you do?"</p><p>For a moment, Adam hesitated, frozen in front of his faceless 'attacker'.  Then, all of a sudden, his right foot flew out and hooked itself around the dummy's left leg.  Twisting hard and shoving 'Eggar's' upper body at the same time, he toppled the figure and leapt out of the way as it fell with a thump on the plastic sheet.  Ungainly but effective.</p><p>Stunned by his own action, Adam stared down at 'Eggar' and his chest was heaving rapidly.  "Did I do it right?" he gasped.  "It's just...  I thought...  Gravity, you know?  The bigger they are..."</p><p>"The harder they fall."  Mac spun the two dummies around, both the fallen 'Eggar' and the standing one, and compared the marks, which were almost identical.  "Good job," he told Adam.  "Eggar isn't off the hook - but Ruth really did win the fight."</p><p>"And then she ran," Adam guessed.  "But where did she go?"</p><p>Mac wished with all his heart that he could answer.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Thomas closed his eyes and swayed in sympathy with the flow of his hands.  The music reached inside him, twisting his heart as it always did.  This piece in particular - Chopin's Etude in E - was a swelling, passionate affair that grew from a slow beginning, through a plaintive melody, to a range of powerful, crashing chords that almost ripped a cry from his throat, it moved him so deeply.</p><p>Although he sat down at the piano, he had never intended to play.  It was simply his favourite place in the house; his comfort zone.  But then, as his thoughts continue to turn in an endless circle of actions and consequences, his long fingers strayed to the keys and, all at once, he was playing like a man possessed, heedless of the child upstairs or anything else around him.</p><p>When, at last, the music slowed, he lifted his head and tears were in his eyes.</p><p>"You're crying," a soft voice declared from the doorway behind him.</p><p>Startled, Thomas froze and the last notes hung in the air; a broken piece of music robbed of its ending.  "Adam," he said.  "I... I'm not."</p><p>"It's okay," the boy said.  "Grown-ups aren't s'posed to cry; I know.  But they do - I've seen 'em."  He rubbed his own eyes surreptitiously.  "I like the music." There was a tension to his whole body as he stood there, poised, with the guilty air of a mouse caught out in the open.</p><p>"You do?"  Thomas longed to beckon him closer but he knew that it would be better to let Adam make all the moves right now.  Trust was a thing to be earned, not a trick to be mastered.</p><p>Adam nodded.  "It's like... you were talking with your hands," he tried to explain.  His expression was earnest and he shuffled forwards, first one foot and then the other.</p><p>Thomas smiled to see the bright red socks pulled up so high, and the shorts, which hung so low.  The boy looked comical - and yet, he told himself, it wasn't funny.  "Yes," he answered thoughtfully.  "I was, in a way.  I play that piece of music whenever I don't know how to say what I feel.  Do you know what I mean?"</p><p>"That happens to you?"  Adam stared at the piano, intrigued.  "Me too," he confessed after a moment, peering sideways at Thomas.  "I can't... I can't get the words out sometimes.  Mrs Roberts..."  He paused and bit his lip, clearly reluctant to finish the thought.</p><p>"Mrs Roberts?" Thomas encouraged him gently.  "What - your teacher?"</p><p>Adam's expression was pained.  "She doesn't wait.  For me, I mean.  When I'm trying to say things.  She just snorts - like this."  He demonstrated and Thomas chuckled.</p><p>"Sounds like a charming woman."</p><p>"Charming."  Adam considered the word.  "Like a prince?  I... I don't think so..."  He shrugged his shoulders and a tiny smile made his lips curl.  "She's ugly," he giggled suddenly.  "You know, with long grey hair and a big nose?  Charlie says she's a witch, but I think she's just mean.  I hate her."  He paused and shot Thomas a frank, open look that surprised him.  "Is that bad?"</p><p>"More her fault than yours, I'd say."</p><p>"Okay..."  The boy slithered closer to the piano and reached out to press the very last key.  A high note leapt into the air and he giggled again, pressing harder; <em>plink, plink, PLINK...</em></p><p>"Want to hear something else?" Thomas asked him quietly.</p><p>The finger lifted and the note flew away like a startled bird.  Standing back and squeezing his hands together in anticipation, Adam nodded.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Don Flack studied his reflection in the rear-view mirror and sighed.  Not good.  Not good at all.  He looked and felt like the ragged end of a night on the town - pale skin, bloodshot eyes and a nasty taste in his mouth that refused to go away.  That 'taste' was Paul Eggar.  Don's skin was still crawling from the interview and it was a testament to his own resistance under pressure that he had kept his fist from introducing itself to the man's lying face.  In the end, the hard-won statement was less than useless - a jumble of misinformation that led them nowhere.  Eggar's number one priority was Eggar himself, not the safe return of his daughter, no matter how much noise he made on the subject.</p><p>Combing his hair with his fingers, Don made the best of a bad job and plastered a look of cheerful determination over the top of his weary features.  He could see the cracks but hopefully no one else would notice.  <em>Got my game face on,</em> he thought with a wry grin.</p><p>A steaming cup of coffee rested on the dashboard - his third already that morning.  He snatched it up and tossed it back with a turbulent gulp, like a shot of whisky, gasping as it hit the back of his throat.  "Caffeine, do your thing," he urged, just as soon as he was able to speak again.  Heat bore down through his core, driving out the chill brought on by tiredness and the churning of his gut.</p><p>He blamed Eggar for that too.</p><p>Opening the car door, Don narrowly avoided striking a trio of schoolgirls, who leapt aside and giggled at his clumsiness.  "Sorry," he told them, climbing out and flashing his badge for good measure.  "You okay?"</p><p>They giggled again; a group response.  Don tried a different tack.  "Hey - I need to find the principal's office.  Mr. Blayne.  You think you could help me?"</p><p>"Main door, second on the left," said the boldest girl, flicking her long braid over her shoulder.  How did she manage to make such a simple gesture seem so derogatory?  "There's a sign, yeah?  Says 'Principal Blayne'."</p><p>"Thanks <em>so</em> much," Don said, oozing sarcasm.  "Maybe while I'm there, I'll let him know how impressed I am with the manners of his pupils, Miss..."</p><p>"Don't give him your name, okay, Mel..."  Too late, the second girl raised her hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her mistake.</p><p>"That's just great, Bekka; thanks.  I mean, really; super smart, <em>great</em> job.  You eat a bowl of 'stupid' for breakfast or something?"  Mel scowled and turned on her sharp heel, leading her posse away through the main gate.  Bekka walked behind the other two girls, her head low.  Don followed, holding his tongue and keeping his distance.</p><p><em>Just remember why you're here, </em>he told himself firmly.  School.  No way he missed it.</p><p>Stepping up to the principal's office had an equally disconcerting effect.  For one jarring moment, he was little Donnie Flack again, all knobbly knees and attitude, with a posse of his own and a flair for getting into trouble - not to mention charming his way out of it.</p><p>A mild voice dragged him back to the present.  "Come."</p><p>Mr. Blayne was waiting for him on the other side of the door.  He had a pale, unremarkable face and a damp hand, which Don discovered to his own cost when it fluttered towards him in welcome.  Keeping his grip loose, the detective shook it lightly and resisted the urge to scrub his palm on his jacket once he was done.</p><p>"Mr. Blayne, I'm..."</p><p>"Detective Flack; yes, I know.  My secretary informed me of your imminent arrival.  Such a dreadful affair - poor child.  Of course, we'll help the police in any way we can.  Greenoak pupils know their duty."</p><p><em>Oh, really, </em>Don thought, but he didn't say it.  "I'll need to speak to anyone that knows Ruth well.  What kind of student is she?"</p><p>Was it his imagination or did Blayne's eyes glaze over?  "Excellent.  Truly excellent; no doubt about it.  This school takes great pride in its high standard of academic achievement..."</p><p>Don knew the beginning of a well-rehearsed speech when he heard it.  "Mr. Blayne, I'm no parent.  Get to the point, please."</p><p>The principal's back stiffened.  "Very well.  What I'm <em>trying</em> to explain is that Rachel was a credit to the school."</p><p>"Is," Don told him sharply.</p><p>"I beg your pardon?"</p><p>"<em>Is</em> a credit.  <em>Ruth</em> Eggar.  I take it you mean she's smart."</p><p>"Oh, yes."  Mr. Blayne gave a cold, possessive smile that made Don's skin crawl.  "Top of her class since she came here.  The girl was... <em>is</em> a natural scholar.  Quite remarkable."</p><p>"Okay.  Bright girl; good for the school and all - I get it.  What about friends?"</p><p>"I beg your pardon?"</p><p>"Who does she hang with?  Who's her BFF?  Does she have a boyfriend?"  Don's irritation with the vacuous little man was growing.</p><p>"Really, Detective; you can't expect me to know such things," Blayne protested.  "There are over three hundred children in this school.  Their little cliques and romances are none of my concern - I'm the principal, not a guidance counsellor."  He shook his head in mild regret at Flack's evident stupidity.</p><p>"Then please, by all means," Don said tightly, "find me someone who <em>does</em> know Ruth - as a person, not a bunch of test scores.  <em>If</em> it's not too much trouble..."</p><p>"No trouble at all."  Blayne reached out and pressed a button on his phone.  <em>See how easy this is,</em> his calm expression said.  "Ms. Brahimi.  Join us, if you please?"</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>"I know what you're thinking," Ms. Brahimi said, her sensible heels squeaking as she led Don through a maze of corridors.  School had started by now and there was a hum at the edge of his hearing which rose and fell every time he passed a door.  "Man's a fool.  You want to know anything worth knowing about Greenoak, don't ask <em>him</em>, for pity's sake.  Let's face it, even the janitor knows more than he does.  He's the figurehead - the public face - but we're the ones who keep this place afloat."</p><p>"I believe you," Don said, recognising the need for a response but feeling a little uncomfortable, all the same, at such a cheerful character assassination.</p><p>"In this particular case, I'd say the person you need is Mrs Gill.  She knows Ruthie better than anyone and they seem to get on pretty well, all told.  She can give you... what is it you policemen call it?  The low-down."  Ms. Brahimi gave a decisive nod as they reached the end of yet another corridor.  "If you'd like to wait in here..."</p><p>She opened a grey door and waved her arm, ushering Don inside before he had time to read the nameplate.  Then she turned on her heels and marched away.  Sitting down on top of an empty desk, Don scanned the walls idly until his eyes came to rest on a hand-made poster.  'The Rules of Detention'...</p><p>"Great," he muttered, trying to ignore little Donnie Flack, who was tugging at his memory again.  "That's just great."  No way was Danny Messer <em>ever</em> going to hear about this.  Or anyone else, for that matter.</p><p>He may have had strong reservations about Ms. Brahimi's sense of humour but he couldn't deny her efficiency.  Less than five minutes had passed before she returned with a young and earnest-looking teacher in her wake.</p><p>"Jennifer Gill," she announced as she swept the woman into the room.  Then she shut the door - stationing herself on the other side, no doubt, with one ear pressed against the panel.  Don shook his head at the thought and then dismissed it.</p><p>"My name's Detective Flack," he offered, standing up and holding out his hand with a little more enthusiasm this time.  Mrs Gill didn't look like the sort of person who would have sweaty palms.  She simply looked... nice.</p><p>Moving closer, she shook hands nervously and then laced her fingers together, trying to hide the fact that they were shaking.  "I can't believe it," she said in a low voice, staring directly at him.  "This is all my fault."</p><p><em>Okay...</em>  "How so?" Don asked the young woman, watching her response with a keen eye.</p><p>"Because," she sighed regretfully.  He recognised that sigh and, all at once, he thought he understood.  "I knew, Detective.  I knew that something was wrong.  She was just too calm - not a glimmer of emotion, you know?  Like a mask.  I was scared to think what might be hiding underneath.  Have you met her father?" she added.</p><p>"Yes," Don said, with force.</p><p>"Exactly."  Mrs Gill winced.  "I could never be certain, you see, but I suspected...  I tried to gain her trust, little by little.  I thought I had time..."  Her voice cracked and she turned her face away.  "How could I have been so stupid?"  A lone tear spilled from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek.  Don moved forward and then halted.  He didn't know this woman but he felt her pain.</p><p>"Hey," he said.  "Not your fault, okay?  You tried to help Ruth - that's a good thing - and you can help her now by telling me everything you know about her."  He gave a wry grin.  "Your boss tells me she's a brainiac.  All well and good, but I want to know more.  Does she have any close friends?"</p><p>"No - not one, as far as I can tell.  She keeps the whole world at a distance."</p><p>"Then no boyfriend either, I take it?  What about enemies?  I mean... I know how kids can be.  I remember..."  Don winced.  Most of his problems back in junior high had been the direct result of his over-protective instinct.  Bullies, he hated to this day.  Meanness made his blood boil.  Little Donnie Flack had walked the halls with all of the detective's passion and none of his restraint.  Conflict was inevitable - and frequent.  Strangely, his dad had been proud - if not of the fights, at least of his righteous indignation.  In the end, it was his mom who taught him the maxim 'look before you leap'.  Sometimes he remembered.  Sometimes, he chose not to...</p><p>Mrs Gill gave a sigh and a watery smile that hinted at painful memories of her own.  "No.  No enemies.  She just... puts her head down and gets on with things, you know?  I mean, she <em>did</em>..."  Swallowing, the teacher tried to focus.  "Actually, you could try talking to the girl who sits next to her in class.  Probably the closest thing to a friendship that <em>I've </em>seen."</p><p>"Oh, I'd say Ruth has a friend alright."  Don gave a reassuring smile.  "Who's this girl?"</p><p>"Rebecca Stiles.  I could also show you some of Ruth's stories, if you think it might help?  When I read them myself... that's what made me wonder..."  Mrs Gill bit her lip.  "They're rather strange, you see."</p><p>"Thank you."  Don's nod was full of encouragement.  He was eager to take a peek at the inner workings of Ruth's mind - this clever, self-contained girl who was such an enigma.  "That'd be great."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>As soon as he caught sight of Rebecca's sullen face, Don knew that this interview was going to be more of a struggle.  Like a reluctant witness back at the precinct, she sidled into the room behind the returning teacher, who held out a handful of notebooks.  "These are for you," Mrs Gill said.  "All of Ruth's work since she started in my class."</p><p>Don took the books gratefully and set them aside.  Mrs Gill moved to the back of the room, a silent witness to the ensuing conversation.</p><p>That left Rebecca standing on her own, arms folded in a typical teenage defensive posture.  Lowering her eyes, she tried to ignore the fact that they recognised each other instantly.  What were the odds?  "Hello, Bekka," he said.  "I'm Detective Flack.  We met..."</p><p>"Outside, yeah, I know."  Bekka's attitude was shifty, as though she couldn't wait to be out of there.</p><p>"I'm sorry - are you worried about something?  You're not in trouble," Don reassured her.  "Have a seat, okay?"</p><p>She obeyed, perching on the very edge.  Don took the other side of the desk; the teacher's chair.  It made him feel like Mac.  He gave a tiny smile and brushed the thought away.</p><p>"I don't know anythin'," Bekka warned.  "This is a waste of time, alright?"</p><p>He could almost hear the lovely Mel directing her words from a distance.</p><p>"I just need to know if Ruth ever talked to you about personal stuff.  Were you friends at all?"</p><p>"No!"  The response was emphatic.  Don smelled a lie.  In the background, Mrs Gill looked startled.</p><p>"Are you sure?" the teacher put in urgently.</p><p>"Course I'm sure.  I know who my friends are."  Unconsciously, Bekka glanced towards the door.</p><p>"They can't hear you, you know," Don told her.  "This conversation is private."</p><p>"And pointless.  Really, I don't know <em>anythin'.</em>  Sorry."  Bekka's eyes were pleading and she pressed her lips together.</p><p>"You don't want to help your friend... I mean, your classmate?"</p><p>"I can't.  I don't...  I'm sorry."  Shaking her head, she began to rise.  "Can I go now?"</p><p>Don's resolve turned to steel.  His next words were hard and they struck the girl sharply, freezing her in an awkward position, halfway to her feet.  Mrs Gill looked horrified, but she held her tongue and did not interrupt.</p><p>"Oh sure, you can go.  This isn't about <em>you</em> after all, is it, Rebecca?  Or your <em>friends</em>, if you can call 'em that.  It's about Ruth - you remember Ruth, right?  The girl who sits beside you every day in class.  The girl who's disappeared.  Her life could be on the line <em>right now</em> and you could be the one with the knowledge to help us save her.  But hey, that's okay - don't worry about it, not on her account.  And whatever you do, don't let it eat away at you - the fact that you had a chance to do the right thing and you blew it."</p><p>Exhausted, Don felt no triumph as he watched her sink back down.  Bekka buried her head in her hands.  Mrs Gill was on her feet at once, moving over to the girl and putting an arm around her shoulders.  <em>Was that really necessary, </em>her stern expression demanded.</p><p>Don nodded wearily.  Welcome to <em>his</em> world.  Scaring this girl half out of her wits to rescue another one - what a hero.</p><p>Minutes passed, uncomfortable and tense.  Finally, Bekka lifted her head and spoke through her silent tears.</p><p>"I knew, okay?" she confessed, and this time it was Don Flack who froze as he hung on every word.  "Ruth told me.  She said she was going to leave - to run away for good.  That she had a friend who'd promised to help her do it.  Some guy she'd met - I don't know where."  Clutching her hands together, she started to sob for real, turning her words into violent hiccups.  "Only, I...  I...  I'm sorry.  I thought she was m-making it up just to shock me and I d-didn't believe her.  Not until I got to school today and f-found out she was missing..."</p><p>"Thank you," Don said quietly.  "That's what I needed to know."</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Adam ran his fingers along the shiny keys.  Thomas had left him to experiment while he dealt with... other things.  Those things were a warm fire on an even warmer day and a pile of damp clothes lying on the bathroom floor, but Adam preferred not to think about that.  He pushed the incident to the back of his mind, as he always did, and pressed down on a black key this time, liking the solemn note it sang.  Deep and low - and kind of sad, Adam thought, as he pressed another key and let the two notes sing together.  That was even better, and he shivered with delight.  "You're a frog, okay," he told the first note.  "An' you're a toad," he continued solemnly, stroking the second key as both sounds faded, one after the other.  Pressing the black keys again, he started to count, curious to know exactly how long the notes lasted and if it was the same every time.  "One, two, three..."</p><p>"Enjoying yourself?" Thomas said, coming into the room.  "Try putting your foot on one of the pedals."</p><p>Adam obeyed.  The sound altered, softening and swelling even as it faded, like a ringing in his ears.  "No," he said quickly, drawing his foot back.  "I like it the other way."</p><p>"You're allowed."  Thomas shrugged and set down the tray he was carrying.  "Hungry yet?  I'm thinking carpet picnic."</p><p>He made it sound perfectly normal, yet Adam had never encountered such a thing.  Picnics were for outside; a special treat, where crumbs didn't matter because the bugs would always steal them away and save them for later.  Inside, you ate at the table, sitting up straight, and never, ever leaned on your elbows or chewed with your mouth open, or talked about the interesting things that popped into your mind - 'why are carrots orange?', for example, or 'how do fish breathe?'.</p><p>"Carpet picnic," Adam repeated, slipping down from the stool.  "Okay..."</p><p>At school, he realised, his class would be doing math.  Adam liked math, but Mrs Roberts didn't.  She always rushed through her explanations and then got cross when he tried to ask a question in his halting, nervous way.  So Adam stopped asking and tried to work things out for himself instead, tucked away at the back of the class, using his fingers or making pictures in his head.  His methods were creative and his work was messy - but his answers were often right.  That made him happy.</p><p>Being here, right now, made him happy too.</p><p>Adam stopped to consider that, staring at the overloaded tray of goodies and the wide smile that split the face of his wonderful new friend.</p><p>"You're nice," he said suddenly, wanting Thomas to understand that he was grateful.  Adults always tried to convince you that they knew what was right - but sometimes, Adam knew, they were just pretending.  Deep down, he guessed, they were just like children; lost in the big world, and frightened.</p><p>Thomas flushed.  "I am?"  He changed the subject quickly but Adam could see that he was pleased.  His eyes were merry as he waved at the tray.  "Hey, you like cookies?  I have cookies...  I made them myself, yesterday, when I was supposed to be working...  I'm not much good at baking but it's a fool-proof recipe."  He giggled.  "Actually, my grandfather calls them 'donkey biscuits'.  Never understood why.  Maybe it's the oats..."  The words rolled on, like dust clouds in a breeze, going nowhere in particular.  At last, they died away and Adam guessed that it was his turn to speak now.</p><p>"I like cookies," he said boldly, answering the question.  Thomas had the same problem as he did, it seemed.  He talked too much when he was nervous.</p><p>"Good.  That's good."</p><p>Adam sat down cross-legged on the carpet, making sure that his socks were still pulled up right over his knees as he settled himself carefully.  Thomas passed him a generous plateful - three cookies, huge and lumpy, with a blackened edge half-hidden beneath a drizzle of chocolate.  Maybe 'fool-proof' didn't mean the same in England, Adam decided, eyeing the plate with concern.  He tried to remember his manners.  "Can I have some milk, please?"</p><p>Grinning, Thomas poured him a glass from the big white jug that dominated half the tray.  "I don't blame you," he admitted.  "Dunk them - they'll taste better, I promise."</p><p>For a while, they sat in happy silence as they dipped and chewed and swallowed the ugly cookies, which were strangely moreish.  Slurping was allowed, apparently, and so were drips on his borrowed clothing, not to mention crumbs on the carpet.  "I'll get those later," Thomas said with a wave of his hand.  "It's not as if I'm going to get any work done today, after all."</p><p>"What is your work?" Adam asked, full of interest.  He pointed to the piano.  "Is that it?"</p><p>Thomas nodded.  "I write music," he admitted, looking a little sheepish.  "At least, I pretend to."  His chuckle was one of those grown-up sounds that meant he was making some kind of a joke about himself.  Adam's brow furrowed as he followed the explanation, trying to make sense of it.  "Right now, I'm writing a song cycle.  You know what that is?"</p><p>"Like a bi-cycle?" Adam said hopefully.</p><p>This time, the laugh that burst from Thomas was loud and real.  "I like that.  I really do.  You're a great kid, Adam; did anyone ever tell you that?"</p><p>He had made Thomas laugh.  Adam swelled with pride and a warm feeling tickled his chest.  He joined in the laughter even though he couldn't understand what was so funny.  At the same time, a new idea was stirring in his head.  He felt it growing, and the strength of it scared him because he knew it was a bad thought, even though it seemed so appealing.</p><p>
  <em>I don't want to leave here...</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>"Secret stash?" Stella asked, with a hint of amusement, walking into the bullpen and halting at the sight of Lindsay's desk; a wasteland of crumbs, scattered files and empty coffee mugs.</p><p>Lindsay paused, her hand halfway to the bottom drawer.  "Your advice," she countered, not really sure why she was feeling so defensive.</p><p>Stella's nod was wise.  "Power bars.  How many have you had this morning?"</p><p>"Oh, well... this is my third but I doubt it'll be my last.  I'm starving."  Lindsay gave a shrug of resignation and pulled out the bar, unwrapping it with haste and cramming it into her mouth.  Bliss...  "'M thorry," she said indistinctly, around the bulge in her cheek.  "You wan' one?"</p><p>Holding up her free hand, Stella laughed and shook her head.  "No thanks - I'm good.  I stopped for a bagel on the way back from court.  Cross-examination always gives me a healthy appetite, for some reason.  Lindsay, when was the last time you slept?"</p><p>Once again, the shrug came in handy.  "I don't know - Montana?"</p><p>"That better be a joke."  Stella set down her own dainty mug of steaming fresh coffee on her immaculate desk.  Eyes wide, Lindsay stared at the mug with undisguised longing.</p><p>"Oh, I wish it <em>was</em>," she sighed with regret, trying to peel her gaze away from the caffeine-loaded treat.  "Uncle Freddie's couch has more lumps in it than a sack full of potatoes.  Not to mention the fact - well, I think it used to be Grover's bed.  That's the dog, not the Muppet," she added, catching Stella's look of bemusement.  "He's a labradoodle and he's not that big on sharing.  Plus he has bad breath... really, <em>really</em> bad breath."  She shuddered.</p><p>"You need your own place."</p><p>"Yes, I do."  The reply was heartfelt.  "God bless Uncle Freddie, but I do."  Crumpling the empty wrapper that was still in her hand, Lindsay tossed it into the wastebasket and made a vague attempt to push her desk into some kind of order.  "I'm not usually like this," she pointed out, trying to defend herself even though there was clearly no need.</p><p>"And I'm not judging," Stella winked.  "You should have seen <em>my</em> desk, first few weeks I actually had one.  Neat as a pin for about two hours and then all hell broke loose.  Paperwork."  She gave a theatrical groan.  "Bane of my life."</p><p>"I don't mind it.  Sometimes it's a challenge in itself, you know?  Sealing a case so tight that no one can dispute the evidence or how you collected it.  Makes sense."  Lindsay spoke with feeling and then realised how she must have sounded to her brand new colleague.  "I mean...  Stella, I wasn't trying to imply that you..."  She swallowed, and the tiredness, the bone-aching <em>exhaustion</em> of it all, began to seep through the walls of caffeine and protein and sheer Monroe stubbornness that she had managed to build up.</p><p>Stella moved around to stand beside her, not in her personal space but close enough to offer comfort in a quiet voice.</p><p>"You're allowed to take a break," she said.  "Even on a case like this one."</p><p>"No, I can't."  Linday's cry was low and pained.</p><p>"Yes," Stella told her.  "You can.  One hour, right now, in the fresh air - well, as fresh as Broadway has to offer."  She gave a bright smile.  "Trust me, okay?  It's even better than the power bars.  It'll keep you sane."</p><p>"But Mac..."</p><p>"...will understand.  And the evidence will wait."  Stella waved her hand towards the door.  "Go."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Coming back, one hour later, Lindsay had to admit that Stella was a genius.  She <em>did</em> feel refreshed, and grounded once again in the real world.  Hard to feel anything else when you stepped out into those crowded streets, so vibrant and diverse.  So different from Bozeman - Lindsay smiled at the thought - and yet it wasn't the city that threatened to overwhelm her.  It was her own feelings, and she could deal with those; she knew she could.  Hadn't she done so before?  Private battles were the hardest but she hadn't lost one yet, and nor did she intend to - not now, not ever.  Lindsay was strong.  More importantly than that, she <em>knew</em> it.  Knowing was a kind of strength in itself.</p><p>In the layout room, she took her time sorting through the potential evidence that she had recovered from the Eggar's apartment.  First in her collection were the bed sheets from both rooms - a dreadful thought but one that couldn't be ignored.  Her initial sweep at the scene had picked up a variety of stains; far too many to catalogue there and then.  Lindsay was determined to be thorough.  She wouldn't put anything past Paul Eggar at this point, and <em>something</em> had made the girl run, after all, abandoning her home and her little brother in a desperate bid for freedom.  Then there was the laptop and a selection of Ruth's other personal belongings - notebooks, photographs, toothbrush for DNA - together with a t-shirt, ripped and bloody, which Lindsay had found in the deepest, darkest corner of the closet.  Even now, the sight of it turned her stomach.</p><p>She clenched her fists, willing herself to focus.</p><p>Blame could wait.  Finding Ruth was still their top priority and even the tiniest handwritten note could become a vital clue.  Setting the other items to one side, Lindsay chose the bundle of notebooks to begin with and laid them out on the light table, hoping to find a journal of some kind.  As she did so, a young tech edged into the room, looking curious but wary.  His hair was scruffy but his eyes shone with suppressed intelligence and... was that excitement?  Lindsay gave him time to gather his thoughts as she concentrated on her task.  Sure enough, moments later, he took a deep breath and spoke to her, his voice quick and eager.</p><p>"Hey - you're Detective Monroe, right?  I mean, you know who you are; that's not what I wanted to...  I was just making sure...  Okay, let's start again; sorry.  I'm Adam Ross.  I'm new.  Detective Taylor sent me to work alongside you."  He smiled, a charming smile that searched for its reflection in her own face.  "If that's alright with you?"</p><p>"I don't know about that."  Lindsay tried to look stern.  "Newbie, huh?  Are you sure you can cope with a big case like this?"</p><p>The man's face fell and he took a step backwards, full of uncertainty.  Shaking her head, Lindsay laughed out loud.  "Come in, Adam Ross," she told him warmly.  "I don't bite; not really.  I'm a newbie too and I'd love some help."</p><p>"Oh!  Okay...  Joke.  I like it."  With a sheepish grin, Adam sashayed up to her, clearly hoping that a little style would cover his confusion.  He held out his hand politely but she wiggled her latex-clad fingers.</p><p>"Nah-ah," she told him.  "Plenty of time for that later.  Mac say what he wanted you to do?"</p><p>"DNA."  Adam's answer was prompt for a change.  "Toothbrush.  He needs it for a positive match - you know, bloodstains and a strand of hair."</p><p>"Paul Eggar?"  Lindsay asked quietly, as the young man's voice tailed away.  There was no need to elaborate.</p><p>"Paul Eggar," Adam agreed.  "You've met him?"</p><p>"Yes, I have."</p><p>They stared at each other in silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts but sharing a common expression.  When Adam did speak, his words were so quiet that Lindsay wondered if she had even heard them correctly.</p><p>"What if Ruth wants to stay lost?"</p><p>Before she could press Adam for an explanation, he gave his head a little shake and changed the subject.  "Toothbrush?" he said with a lop-sided smile.</p><p>"Over there."</p><p>He rifled through the bags and pulled out the one he needed.  "Want me to run the whole process myself?  I can do it...  Hey!  A laptop."</p><p>"No, just take a sample and pass it on to DNA.  I need you here.  There's a lot to go through."  She turned and watched him, noting his fascination with Ruth's computer - and how poorly he tried to hide it.  After working through the night with her inscrutable new boss, it was quite a relief to spend time with someone whose open face revealed every thought.</p><p><em>Almost</em> every thought, she told herself, remembering his curious comment.</p><p>"You want to take that too?" she offered kindly.</p><p>"What?  You mean this?  Um, the laptop, I mean?"  <em>I'd love to,</em> said the light in his eyes and Lindsay felt a surge of warm satisfaction - just as Detective Flack walked through the door and caught them both smiling at each other like a couple of fools.</p><p>"Havin' fun?" he said.</p><p>"Assigning jobs," Lindsay told him primly, studying his weary posture and wondering if hers was any better.  She offered him a wink of sympathy, and he took it, curling his lips in a half-smile.  "This is Adam Ross," she added, making the lab tech flush as Flack's direct gaze pinned him to the spot.  "He's going to be helping me."  She refrained from pointing out that it was the young man's first day.  Everyone deserved a little dignity.</p><p>"Hey, Ross," Flack said.</p><p>"Hey," the lab tech mumbled.  All of a sudden, he appeared to be <em>deeply</em> interested in Ruth's little green toothbrush, and turned away to begin his task.  Flack gave a wolfish grin and slapped down a new pile of books next to Lindsay's careful row.</p><p>"More reading."</p><p>"So I see."</p><p>"Turns out our friend Ruth likes writin' stories - and they're weird, okay; I mean <em>really</em> weird.  I flicked through a couple with her teacher and I have to say, they freaked me out more than just a little.  Freaked <em>her</em> out, too - the teacher.  Mrs Gill."  One eyebrow lifted.  "You like stories, Monroe?"</p><p>"Freaked her out how?" Lindsay countered smoothly.  Flack mingled charm with sarcasm - that was his style and she liked it.  Fencing with words was something she enjoyed.</p><p>"Read 'em.  You'll see what I mean.  What is it you scientists say about contents under pressure?  Accordin' to her teacher, Ruth bottled everything up.  Barely spoke to anyone at school; just kept right on working like it was all that mattered.  These books may be the only clue to what was really goin' on inside her head."</p><p>"And the laptop," said an unexpected voice from the other side of the room.  Two heads spun round and Adam froze.  The look on his face made Lindsay want to giggle.  "You know," he continued, trying to quantify his statement, "'cause we could see what sites she visited, and what games she played, and if there's any stories on here too...  maybe...  You want it back?"  His offer was reluctant.  "I could work on something else."</p><p>"Why?"  Lindsay was blunt and it shocked him, she could tell.  Flack kept silent, following the conversation with interest.</p><p>"Well... because it's important."</p><p>"Can you do it?"</p><p>"Oh, yes."  This time, and for the first time since she had met him, there was absolute conviction in Adam's voice.</p><p>"In this lab," Lindsay said carefully, "it doesn't matter how new you are.  What matters is the evidence and doing your job.  Mac told me that on my first day and it's pretty good advice.  The laptop is your evidence now.  Your job is to help find Ruth Eggar.  Got it?"</p><p>"Got it.  Thanks."  Adam tried to look serious but a tiny smile was dancing on his lips as he ducked his head and went back to the toothbrush.</p><p>"Great pep talk," Flack murmured.</p><p>"Just spreading the wisdom."  Lindsay picked up one of Ruth's school books and let it fall open.  Handwriting covered the random page, dark and sprawling.  An image came to her, of an urgent pen moving quickly across the lines; the link between hand and mind so strong that it was more of a compulsion than a thought process.  "What else did the teacher say?" she asked.</p><p>Flack explained about Bekka and her reluctant confession.  "I think Ruth's been plannin' this for a long time.  Ask me, what we need to do is find this mystery friend who's been helping her.  Any names in those books, or on that laptop, you run 'em down, okay?"  He sighed.  "I got a really bad feelin' this ain't no Good Samaritan."</p><p>His stark words echoed the fear that was churning in Lindsay's gut as well.</p><p>"We'll find her, Flack," she said.  It was more of a wish than a promise.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>When the school bus returned that afternoon, Adam thought about locking himself in the bathroom.  But doors, he knew, could be opened - even locked ones - and so he turned his face to Thomas with a blank look that had nothing to do with the man in front of him and everything to do with the world outside.  "I have to go now," he said.</p><p>"Yes," his new friend agreed.  "You do."  There was a long pause.  Adam could see that Thomas was thinking and the thoughts were difficult, like a really hard sum that made you screw up your face and frown until you found the right answer.  When you did, though, everything felt better.  "Look," Thomas told him at last, with a hopeful smile, "come back, okay?  Whenever you need...  Whenever you want."  Something else was hidden behind his words.  Adam wasn't sure but he thought he understood what Thomas was offering and he caught his breath.  A safe place.  He had a safe place, and a friend to help him.</p><p>His own clothes smelled bad but they were dry.  Putting them on felt like the end of everything good - but now Adam had this new hope to cling to.  He dropped the borrowed items on the bathroom floor and stared at them.  So bright.  So funny.  Picking up one of the red socks, he crammed it deep into his pocket; quickly, so his conscience wouldn't see what he was doing.  Then he covered the tell-tale lump with his t-shirt.  If he couldn't make it back...  Well, at least he could remember.  Sandwiches at the kitchen table, inventing crazy fillings from a wonderful selection - peanut butter and jelly beans; chocolate and bananas; cheese and chips.  Playing games in the afternoon - Thomas had taught him chess and Adam had fallen in love with the tiny characters, each one such an important part of the whole.  Thomas liked the knight, he said, because it was un-pre-dictable, but Adam's favourite piece was the pawn, which could be anything at all, if only it could reach the other side of the board.</p><p>Climbing slowly down the narrow stairs, Adam found Thomas waiting by the front door.  They stared at each other, suddenly shy, as they had been at the beginning.  "Thank you," Adam whispered, but the words weren't strong enough and so he tried again.  "Thank you very much, Mister Thomas.  I... I'll come back."</p><p>"Only if you want to," Thomas said softly.</p><p>Adam bit his bottom lip.  "I want to, e-nor-mously," he confessed.  "It's been the best day - really."  And he bolted through the door, before his fine new friend could see the shameful tears that were running down his cheeks.</p><p>Halfway home, he encountered Charlie, who was walking slowly, dragging his feet along the road.  "Where've you been?" his brother demanded.  Was that anger or relief in his voice?  Adam hung back, screwing up his eyes against the hot, bright sun that burned around his brother like a halo.  Charlie's face was impossible to see.</p><p>"I thought...  I stayed away, okay?  They'll think I was at school - and you're not telling!" Adam said fiercely.  Now it was Charlie's turn to be confused.</p><p>"Why would I?  Talk about dumb.  We'd both catch it for that, and I've done nothin' wrong."  He shrugged.  "Teacher thinks you were sick again.  That's what I told her and she looked happy.  Bet she had a real good day without you stinking out her classroom."</p><p>"Liar," Adam breathed, but the words were already making a home in his head, burrowing quickly like worms in the dirt.  He took a step back.  Charlie followed, sniffing the air.</p><p>"I don't think so," he said plainly.  "You're disgusting.  Walk home by yourself, okay?"  He turned, but his final words were crystal clear in the early evening air.  "Little baby."</p><p>For a moment, Adam almost fled.  The house - his new friend's house - was so close that he could have reached it, even with Charlie pounding at his heels.  But what then?  His day was over.  Night was coming, and night meant home.  That was the way it had to be.  Adam scrubbed his wet cheeks and trailed along behind his brother, one hand clutching the fuzzy red sock in his pocket.</p><p>Yes, nights were bad.  But there was always tomorrow...</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>"I thought eating was frowned upon," Sheldon Hawkes quipped, dragging Mac's attention away from the television screen.</p><p>"Only in the first week," Mac dead-panned.  "Plus, it never hurts to be the one who does the frowning."</p><p>Sheldon's chuckle was a warm and cheerful sound that cast a lively spell over the break room.  "Good point," he agreed, and Mac raised an eyebrow - his own acknowledgement of the fact that they were both joking.  Around them, the volume rose steadily as all the other occupants of the room began to relax.  Mac understood that his presence there could be intimidating, which was why he often chose to eat in his office.  Sometimes, though, he yearned to be around other people, not separated from them by a glass wall and that other invisible barrier - his position.  He had no desire to be a cold and distant leader.  Quite the opposite, in fact; he wanted his colleagues, both old and new, to feel that they could approach him with confidence and even humour, when appropriate, just as Hawkes had done.</p><p>"She's a pretty girl," Sheldon continued, his own attention caught by the face on the newscast.  Green eyes, dark hair, pale skin and a serious expression.  Ruth Eggar was everywhere today - and yet, at the same time, she was nowhere.  Mac sighed in frustration.</p><p>"Yes, she is."</p><p>"No luck in finding her?"</p><p>"You think luck is part of what we do here, Dr. Hawkes?"  Mac's level gaze was disconcerting, he knew, but somehow this easy bantering made him feel better.  Besides, Sheldon could handle it.</p><p>"Yes, of course I do."</p><p>"And you'd be right.  I'd give anything for a lucky break in this case.  It's been too long already.  Ruth could be hundreds of miles away - or..."  <em>Dead,</em> he thought, and could not bring himself to say it.</p><p>"Would you give... that sandwich?" Sheldon asked slyly.</p><p>It was another joke, but Mac pushed his plate across the table with a shrug.  "Take it.  Turns out, I'm not as hungry as I thought."  In truth, his stomach was in knots, strangled by concern for Ruth and the memory of Paul Eggar's sour face and ugly disposition.</p><p>Now Sheldon did look troubled, clearly trying to work out the protocols involved in accidentally scrounging food from the Head of the Crime Lab.  Fortunately, at that moment, Danny Messer burst upon the scene, his blue eyes bright with jubilation.</p><p>"We got it, Mac.  We found the car."</p><p><em>'We' meaning you,</em> Mac guessed, liking the man's attitude.  "Take the sandwich," he repeated to Sheldon, surging to his feet at once, as Danny flashed the doctor a lop-sided grin of startled amusement.  "It's yours."</p><p>"Okay... um, thanks..."</p><p>Mac left the doctor sounding almost as flustered as that new lab tech, Ross, and hurried from the break room.</p><p>"Tell me," he urged, striding to keep up with Danny's energetic pace.  It didn't take them long to reach the AV lab, and Danny waved his arms at the trio of screens, each one showing a separate image.</p><p>"Okay.  First up; tyre treads were nice and clear, just like our witness said.  When I ran 'em through the database, I got Honda, which was pretty much a bust - or so I thought.  That's the must-have car for Joe Average and his family, right?  Two point five kids and a Honda Civic...  Turns out, we got lucky, though, 'cause after that, I checked the CCTV footage and there was only one Honda in the neighbourhood at the time Ruth Eggar went missing."  Danny's grin grew wide as he pointed to a series of stills on the second screen.  "See the white car; there, there... and there?  I followed it for twelve blocks."</p><p>"Only twelve?" Mac queried.</p><p>Danny had the grace to try and hide his smugness.  "All I needed."  Together, they stared at the third screen, which showed... nothing.  No streets, no buildings and clearly no cars.</p><p>"Waste ground."  Leaning in, Mac squinted until he managed to pick out the shadowy guts of what looked like an abandoned couch among the weeds and the rubble.</p><p>"You got it.  I did some research on the site.  Used to be an old warehouse, till it was demolished.  Area's waitin' for regeneration - which means, of course, it's the local go-to venue for gettin' high and actin' all kinds of crazy.  It's also where our trail ends.  The car went in... and never came out.  Place is a dead end."  Danny faltered.  "Okay, not the best choice of words.  Let's call it..."</p><p>"A new place to start," Mac said grimly.  "Good work, Danny."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>A dark and ominous weather front was rolling in from the river.  They drove through it as they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, lost for several moments in a netherworld of mist and floating tail lights.  When, at last, the Avalanche reached its destination and Mac stepped out, he could feel the tingle in the air all around him, like the shiver of suspense he felt every time the phone rang, calling him to another crime scene; another tragic example of the worst this city had to offer.</p><p>"Great place for a party," Danny muttered, slamming the door on the driver's side and peering through the wire fence.  Mac gave a wry smile at his colleague's remark.  Boxed in between a series of ugly apartment blocks, the wasteland was dreary; a wilderness of weeds and shadows littered with enough broken bottles and other, far more distasteful items to keep the Crime Lab busy for a month or more.  Luckily for the unwitting lab techs, that wasn't the evidence that interested Mac  Right in the very centre sat the Honda, already divested of its wheels, its doors, its engine... almost everything, in fact, apart from the framework, which was covered in tags and sprawling doodles.</p><p>"Skoo-B-Doo," Danny spelled out as they passed through the open gate and stumbled over the rubble to the ravaged metal corpse - all that remained of their evidence.  "Very nice.  Very original."  Suddenly, he stopped and sniffed the air.  "Oh, come on - you gotta be kiddin' me!  That ain't fair.  Mac, you smell what I'm smellin'?  'Cause it sure ain't alcohol - though I'm guessin' that makes up most of the soil content, thanks to our fun-lovin' friends."</p><p>Mac nodded.  His nose was infallible and the scent was strong.  "It's bleach."</p><p>"This guy's been watchin' too many cop shows," Danny sighed.  "Trouble is, he's got the right idea.  Any trace we find in all this mess is gonna be corrupted.  That's gonna make our job a whole lot harder - just what we don't need right now, when every second counts.  We gotta find this girl..."  He ground his teeth in frustration, staring at the far edge of the wasteland, where the fence was riddled with holes.  "Who knows which way they went from here?"</p><p>"Trust your instincts," Mac told him, setting his kit on the ground.  "Maybe our guy isn't as smart as he likes to think he is."</p><p>"He covered the car in bleach and left it to be torn apart by the local 'entrepreneurs'," Danny grumbled.  "That sounds pretty smart to me."  All the same, he opened his own kit and dug for his gloves as he waited, willing to hear Mac out.</p><p>"True.  But there's one piece of evidence he didn't take into account," Mac said quietly.  Like a rabbit from a hat, he produced the luminol in its handy spray container.  Danny's eyes lit up and he smacked his forehead.</p><p>"The bleach itself.  Which reacts with luminol, just like blood.  Nice thinkin', boss."</p><p>"Examine the car," Mac suggested.  Just as Danny had done, he snapped on a pair of gloves before clipping an orange screen to his portable UV light.  Suddenly, he was thankful for the dark clouds, which would make his task a whole lot easier.  "I'm going to see if our not-so-clever friend has left a trail behind him..."</p><p>"Like a slug," Danny muttered, making Mac smile as his young colleague took a deep breath, donned a mask and ducked inside to study the abject remains of the Honda.</p><p>Mac sent out a wide mist of luminol, following its progress with the UV light.  Splashes of bleach were everywhere, faint but visible.  They circled the wreckage like a magical ring of protection - which was far from the truth, Mac thought bleakly.  Even if Ruth was a willing participant in this strange deception, that didn't mean she was safe.  He froze as the beam picked out a set of partial, glowing footprints, adult-sized, moving away.  There was no smaller print to be seen.</p><p>"Danny," he said, breathless with urgency.  "Have you found her?  Is she in there after all?"</p><p>"No, Mac."  Danny's head popped up.  His voice sounded muffled but firm through the mask.  "No body.  Ruth ain't here, okay?  The Slug took her with him."</p><p>"Then he must have carried her," Mac surmised.  "Unless she kept away from the bleach somehow."  With fresh resolve, he returned to the trail and began to follow it.  The glowing prints grew fainter with every step but not before he tracked them all the way to a tall clump of weeds near the widest hole in the fence.  There, he stopped in disbelief, unable to trust what his eyes were seeing.</p><p>The Slug, as Danny called him, had made a <em>big</em> mistake.</p><p>A grin spread from ear to ear as Mac bent down and picked up the empty plastic bottle.  "Got you," he said - and his voice was full of hope.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>When he reached the gate, Charlie paused and waited for Adam to catch up.  Perhaps he regretted his unkind words - or perhaps he, too, feared discovery.  "Look," he whispered, "here's the deal, okay?  You don't tell on me and I'll distract 'em while you go and change."</p><p>"Tell on you?"  Adam frowned.  The morning seemed so long ago that he had quite forgotten how the day began but now it all came back to him in a rush; fractured memories of dirt and prickly bushes.  There was pain, too, but he pushed that away.  "I won't tell," he promised.  After all, if Charlie hadn't fought with him, he would never have missed the bus - or met Thomas.</p><p>Satisfied that he still had the upper hand, Charlie nodded.  "I'll go first.  You sneak in behind me.  Don't make any noise - remember where the floor squeaks."</p><p>"I remember.  Thank you, Charlie," Adam said obediently.</p><p>The front door stood open.  This was a safe neighbourhood - a whole community of new houses, filled with families - and all the local parents had adopted the friendly gesture, making their children feel welcome when they returned home from school.  Charlie stepped through and disappeared down the stuffy, narrow hallway in the direction of the kitchen.</p><p>Adam hovered on the doorstep, his fingers clenching tightly into little fists.  It was the same every day, this struggle to push through the barrier between worlds.</p><p>Laughter rang out inside the house but it was cheerful, not mocking.  Charlie had kept his word, then.  Adam took a deep breath and hopped across the threshold.</p><p>Nobody heard him as he tiptoed to his room; the messy den his brother was obliged to share with him.  Once inside, he closed the door as carefully as he could and leaned against it, gasping so hard that his whole body rocked.  Sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes and made them sting.  "I'm not crying," he muttered, rubbing them fiercely.</p><p>"Adam," said a soft voice through the door.</p><p>With a gasp, he flung himself across the room and burrowed under the covers of his bed.  "'M sick," he called out in desperation.  His own voice sounded odd; all squashed and fuzzy, trapped within the walls of his makeshift cave.  The stench of his clothes was trapped there too, making Adam want to gag.</p><p>"Oh, honey," the voice said fondly, and this time it was much closer.  Adam's tousled head poked out again and he blinked at his mother with wide eyes.</p><p>"Really, Momma.  I feel sick.  You should prob'ly go away, okay?"</p><p>"Do you want me to?" his mother said, sitting down beside the tangled heap of bedding that was her son.  One hand reached out and stroked his hair, twisting each curl between her fingers in a soothing motion.</p><p>"Momma..." Adam sighed.  He sat up and the covers pooled around him.</p><p>"Tell me," she suggested.</p><p>And now, of course, his words dried up, like a flower in the desert heat.  Adam shook his head, staring at his mother's warm blue eyes and her gleaming copper hair.  She was beautiful and he loved her - but he couldn't speak.</p><p>"Never mind," Momma said.  "I think I know."</p><p>She pulled back the bedding and tried not to wince as she took in the ragged appearance of her youngest son.  "Don't tell me you were fighting?"</p><p>Adam's head dropped.  Better to hide his face so she wouldn't read the truth there.  Charlie would kill him, even if he told by accident.</p><p>"And I suppose you waited too long again.  Adam, sweetheart, what have I told you about that?  All you have to do is ask Mrs Roberts.  She's not going to stop you going to the bathroom, if you need to.  Didn't they make you change today?"</p><p>"No spare clothes," he managed to whisper.</p><p>"Oh," his mother said with a sudden edge of guilt in her voice.  "That's down to me.  I've only just washed the last ones.  You can take them back tomorrow."</p><p>Rising to her feet, she fetched a clean pair of pants and a t-shirt from the closet.  They belonged to Charlie but Adam didn't have the strength to point that out.  They were clean, and that was all that mattered right now.  "Come here," Momma said.  "Stand up."</p><p>In silence, he obeyed.  After the overwhelming warmth of his hiding place, the room felt cold and he trembled as his mother unbuckled his jeans and let them drop to his ankles.  She made not further comment about their ruined state - but she did take a good long look at his bare legs.</p><p>"Better," she murmured, fingering the yellow bruises that stained the skin below the knees.  Her touch was feather-light, but Adam still pulled away.</p><p>"Don't," he said, involuntarily.</p><p>His mother sat back on her heels as though he had slapped her.  "Adam..." she breathed.</p><p>At once, he was contrite.  "No, Momma.  It's okay.  I'm sorry...  All better now; you're right."</p><p>She clambered to her feet and sat on the bed again, drawing him onto her lap and holding him there with both arms circled tightly around his chest.  Adam wriggled at first, but then leaned in, closing his eyes as his mother rocked him like a baby.  The scent of her was so familiar; violets and comfort.  "I love you, Momma."</p><p>"I love you too, honey."</p><p><em>Stay,</em> he thought, pleading stubbornly with Time.  <em>Just stay like this forever...</em></p><p>But faithless Time loves nothing more than trickery.  The rocking ceased and Adam's eyes flew open as a voice called out from the hallway.  "Harriet!  I'm home."</p><p>A cloud passed over the sun.  Adam shuddered in earnest.  Momma stared at him and her eyes were dull.</p><p>"Get dressed," she said, releasing him.  "It's time to eat."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>The hum of the mainframe beneath Adam's feet was the heartbeat of the whole lab, or so it seemed to him.  He loved this place already.  The Boss Man was cool - a little short on conversation, maybe, but with a twinkle in his eye that let you know he was On Your Side and willing to hear your point of view.  Adam knew - he <em>knew</em> he talked too much when he got excited.  He couldn't help himself, but Detective Taylor had been patient and, more than that, he had been pleased with Adam's work.  The joy gained from such a simple affirmation was indescribable.  Adam knew that, from now on, he would strive to do his best for the man who made him feel that way.</p><p>Then, of course, there were the gadgets.  Never before had he seen such a dazzling array of wonders.  Even a humble task like finding the password for a young girl's laptop had its own technological short-cut.  Leaning back in his chair, Adam watched as the password-cracker rolled through countless combinations.  He felt almost guilty, the whole thing was so easy.  Solving crimes with 'plug and play'...  Letting out an unexpected giggle, he clapped a hand across his mouth and glanced around in dismay but no one had heard him, thank goodness.  He was alone; the sole commander of a blinking flight deck.  The captain on the bridge.  "Beam me up, okay?" he whispered happily.  "I must be dreaming."</p><p>A respectful little beep let him know that the programme had done its work.  "Good job," he told the device.  Patting it gently, he unplugged it from the laptop and set it aside before turning back to the screen, which had blossomed into life, inviting him in like a new friend.  "Hello, Ruth," he murmured.  "I'm Adam."</p><p>The first thing that caught his attention was the number of folders crammed onto the desktop.  Clearly, Ruth was not tidy-minded - either that, or she liked to have everything to hand, for easy access.  "So you're a fan of short-cuts too," Adam teased her, scanning the icons for anything that might take him deeper into her head.  As he swept his gaze across the file names, he realised that the picture behind the clutter was not one of the usual bright, generic XP backgrounds but something far more personal and intriguing.  Accessing Ruth's chosen settings, he took a better look at the scene in its original format, leaning in and studying it with deep fascination.  It was an image that she had taken from the internet - the original site was listed - and it showed a curious figure, dancing along a riverbank, dressed in red and yellow with a pipe at his lips and a line of children dancing after him.</p><p>"I know you..."  Adam wriggled as a memory stirred.  A song, perhaps... or a story?  Rolling his chair across the room, he settled himself at one of the main access points and typed in a few key words - 'piper', 'red and yellow', 'children' - which popped up in triplicate on the row of screens in front of him.  "Wild," he murmured, grinning.</p><p>With smug efficiency, the browser offered its solution.  Adam shook his head as he scrolled down the list of relevant sites.  Of course - he should have remembered.  The legend was a famous one and the dancing figure practically an icon.  The Pied Piper of Hamelin, who charmed first rats and then children with his music.</p><p>Sliding back to the laptop, Adam stared at the original picture once more, feeling quite unsettled.</p><p>What was the Piper doing on Ruth's desktop?</p><p>More importantly, should he tell Detective Taylor?</p><p><em>No,</em> he decided.  Not yet.  First, he needed to gather more information.  After all, the girl liked stories, right?  This could be one of her favourites, nothing more...  <em>Yeah, right, and that Detective Flack's gonna dance a jig down the corridor any moment now,</em> Adam thought sarcastically.  The Piper was important to Ruth; he <em>felt</em> it and the conviction was so strong, it made him shiver.  Even so, gut instinct wasn't proof.  His new boss was going to ask him 'why' and Adam intended to have the right answer.</p><p>Time passed.  The world moved around him, yet he barely noticed.  He was utterly absorbed by the investigation, clicking his way through Ruth's folders one by one and scribbling notes in the little Moleskine notebook he always kept in his pocket.  When he came across a collection of her stories, he opened the first document and began to read, hunching forwards and frowning with concentration.</p><p>
  <em>The Pale Woman.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her life isn't real.  It disappeared into the past a long time ago.  She sees everything around her but she can't touch.  Who hears her voice?  No one.  They think it's the sighing of the wind.  Who sees her tears?  Only the one who made her what she is.  She'll be a ghost forever and she belongs to him.</em>
</p><p>The chill that ran down Adam's spine was icy cold.  Even more alarming was the hand that brushed his shoulder.  "Oh!" he cried out, almost losing control of his chair as he spun round to see who had crept up behind him.</p><p>"Sorry," Lindsay told him, holding back the laughter that shone in her eyes.  "I said your name.  I thought you heard me."</p><p>Graceful surrender was the only way to recover his dignity.  Adam offered up his most appealing smile.  "Not your fault.  I was reading," he confessed.  "And, well...  I guess I got sucked in.  Detective Flack wasn't kidding - this stuff is spooky."  He gestured to the screen.</p><p>"Tell me about it," Lindsay said with feeling.  She peered over his shoulder, reading the first few lines and nodding in agreement.  "I just spent the last hour and a half on a tour of Ruth's imagination."</p><p>"Is it all like this?"</p><p>"More or less.  I think the same world runs through most of her stories, like she's invented it and it's growing all the time."</p><p>"Maybe..." Adam began, and then faltered.  Lindsay gave him a reassuring nudge with her elbow.</p><p>"Go on."</p><p>"Maybe this was her way of escaping.  Or, you know, making sense of things."  He stared at the words on the screen, urging them to reveal their secret.  "Like this Pale Woman, okay?  She could be a real person - someone who's lost and unhappy."</p><p>"I wondered about that myself.  So then, could this be Ruth?  Is she describing how she feels about her own life?"</p><p>"I'm not sure.  Maybe..." he repeated, tailing off again.  He didn't want to offend Lindsay, who was being so nice to him, but somehow, that just didn't feel like the right answer.  Ruth's description was separate; judgemental, even, though it contained no malice.  She was simply using her words to try and understand.  "What about her mother?" Adam whispered, startled by his own insight.  Glancing back at his colleague, he saw a curious expression on her face; realisation mingled with pity.</p><p>"Yes," Lindsay said.  "You're right.  I met her.  This could be Lauren Eggar.  Good call, Adam.  What made you think of that?"</p><p>"Lucky guess," he bluffed, moving on with haste.  "But if Ruth does put real people in her stories, is it possible... can you tell if one of the others is her dad?  Or this 'invisible friend' that promised to help her?"</p><p>"It's possible."  Lindsay's voice grew thoughtful.  Grabbing a chair, she sat down beside him.  "There were quite a few recurring themes and characters.  It was a well-constructed world, considering Ruth's age.  If she based the whole thing on reality, as we suspect, then that would explain a lot.  Let me think for a minute, okay?"</p><p>Adam nodded.  Dutifully, he returned to the screen, leaving Lindsay to her deliberation.  Closing the story, he chose another document from the list and began to read.</p><p>
  <em>The Mouse and the Mountain.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Once there was a tiny mouse who lived in the walls and was too scared to come out.  He could hear the world outside.  It was big and full of sounds that frightened him.  He wished that he could be brave but he was just a mouse and no matter how many times he wished for it, he would never turn into a lion.</em>
</p><p>The story seemed to be a charming fable on the surface, quite unlike the previous description.  Adam began to skim through the rest, looking out for potential clues.  Further down the page, a single paragraph caught his attention.</p><p>
  <em>The mouse peered through a crack in the wall and saw the bird who was singing.  His voice was beautiful and his song made the mouse feel happy.  "Come to the Mountain," he sang.  "Come to the Mountain and be free."</em>
</p><p>In Adam's head, a series of random thoughts crept towards each other as he strained to understand exactly what it was about these lines that had struck a chord with him.  A sanctuary - the Mountain was a sanctuary.  And the bird, with its song...  Was the bird the same as the Piper?</p><p>If so, could this Piper be Ruth's secret friend?</p><p>In the very darkest corner of Adam's mind, where he trapped his sorrows, a memory stirred.  He pushed it away and forced himself to concentrate on the present.</p><p>"Lindsay," he confessed, "I need to tell you...  I think I might be on to something..."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Adam poked at the sad, white piece of fish on his plate and wondered how on earth he was going to eat it.  Carpet picnics and food experiments were all very well at the time but now here he was back home with a full belly and a daunting task ahead of him.</p><p>"Adam," his father said from the big seat at the head of the table.  "Don't play with your food."</p><p>A mysterious rule.  Playing meant fun and that was a good thing, surely - so why did meal times have to be dull?  Who made that decision on behalf of everyone?  And how come Thomas didn't know about it?</p><p>Maybe things were different in London.</p><p>Adam saved the question to ask his new friend later and speared a lump of fish on the end of his knife.  Momma gave her head a tiny shake.  <em>Oh,</em> he thought, remembering.  Wrong again - and too late, as his father spotted the mistake and frowned.  The knife slipped from Adam's hand, bounced off the plate with a sharp clatter and sailed towards the floor, scattering white flakes everywhere.  Open-mouthed, he watched it fall.  This was bad.  So very bad.</p><p>Daddy set down his own knife and fork with a careful, deliberate motion.  His mouth was full of food and he took the time to swallow it all before speaking.</p><p>"If you don't stop eating like an animal," he said in a tone that was deceptively mild, "you'll be finishing your meal outside in the back yard."</p><p>Adam blinked, bewildered.  "Like a picnic?" he ventured.  Once again, his mother sent him a warning look across the table.  So did his sister, Mary; fourteen years old and painfully shy, but kind, just like Momma.  Next to Adam, Charlie sniggered quietly.  Charlie had never liked him, not really.  Not since the day he was born - the spare boy; the one that Daddy never wanted.  Those were the words his big brother whispered, late at night in the darkness.  And Charlie was clever, which meant that it had to be true.</p><p>"No," Daddy said, in answer to Adam's question.  "Like a dog."</p><p>Charlie laughed out loud at that and Daddy glared at him.  It wasn't meant to be a joke.  This was a lesson.  Flushing to the roots of his hair, Adam ducked his head and wished he had the courage to push just that little bit harder.  Anything to escape this room - but the punishment for answering back would be far more severe and, try as he might, he could not bring himself to risk it.</p><p>"Sorry, Daddy," he mumbled.</p><p>"What was that?  Speak up.  I can't stand that disgusting baby-voice.  You're seven years old - start acting like it!  Pick up your mess and make sure you clean your plate; every mouthful.  Your mother spent good money on this food - my money - and I won't see it go to waste.  Pick it up!" he repeated forcefully.</p><p>Adam jerked his limbs in fright and tumbled from his seat, disappearing under the table and scraping at the carpet with his fingernails in a vain attempt to pick up every scattered flake of fish.  As the rapid beating of his heart slowed down, however, his movements became less frantic.  Down here, he realised, it was rather nice.  No one stared at him, for the simple reason that no one could see him.  He could hear the cutlery clanking on the plates overhead, and the sound of chewing.  Legs shuffled.  Charlie's feet were swinging.  Adam backed away without looking where he was going... and blundered into Daddy instead.</p><p>Big mistake.</p><p>The toe of Daddy's shoe was painful as it shot out and struck him on the arm.  Adam pressed his lips together stubbornly, his face white with shame.  Not for the world would he make a sound.  If he did, then everyone would know.</p><p><em>It doesn't hurt,</em> he told himself with fierce determination.  <em>It doesn't, it doesn't...</em></p><p>The pain fought back but Adam won.  He drove it away with memories of rolling music and a shiny black piano.</p><p>Quiet as a mouse, he picked up the knife, which lay nearby.  It felt cold and strange in his hand and he stared at the curious object for what seemed like a very long time, with no thought in his head except for the music.  When, at last, he came back to himself, he climbed onto his chair, laying down the knife with care, just like Daddy.  The sticky wad of flakes, he dropped beside his plate.  The smell of the food was rank by now.  A skin had formed on the sauce and everything - the greens, the potato, the white lump that used to be a fish - looked cold and unappealing.</p><p>"Thank your mother for a lovely meal," his father insisted, in the smug voice he always used when he was ramming home his point.</p><p>"Thank you, Momma," Adam said.  He lifted his eyes, but not quite high enough to catch his mother's gaze.  At the same time, he scooped up a forkful of mashed potato and shoved it into his mouth.  "Mm," he lied, around the sticky mass.  "'S good."</p><p>In his head, he was eating peanut butter on fresh bread, while Thomas smiled at him.</p><p>Safe at last in his own world, Adam smiled back.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>"Now that's a sight to make eyes sore," Don Flack muttered, staring at the ugly brownstone in front of them.  It was tall and thin, and lurked between its neighbours with a sullen air, as though it sensed they were trying to shoulder it out of existence, and refused to leave.  More than two-thirds of its windowpanes had already disappeared, only to be replaced by dirty wooden boards or, in one peculiar instance, bubble wrap.</p><p>"Homely," Mac agreed.</p><p>Don turned and grinned at his friend.  "Anyone every tell you, you've got a real flair for understatement?"</p><p>Mac gave a short nod.  "Stella.  At least once a week."  His eyes narrowed, betraying an urgency that was out of balance with the casual humour in his comment.  "Let's do this, shall we?"</p><p>Like a perp with questionable hygiene, Huntington House gave off a nasty odour - garbage, mixed with some kind of ugly stew, Don decided, sniffing the air and hesitating.  "This is the place, then?  You're sure?"</p><p>"According to Volker's parole officer.  She confirmed his address, and proceeded to follow that up with a ten minute lecture on why her charge couldn't <em>possibly</em> have anything to do with our missing girl," Mac commented with some asperity.  "'Gullible' doesn't even come close.  Talk about the wrong career path.  As far as she's concerned, our guy's become a model citizen since leaving Rikers.  A shining example of rehabilitation."</p><p>"Yeah, right.  A 'model citizen' who just happened to leave his prints on a bottle of bleach that wiped out a whole crime scene - pun intended," Don smirked.</p><p>"That's what <em>I</em> said - right before our conversation came to an abrupt end."  Mac shrugged and headed up the worn grey steps to the front door of the brownstone.  Don followed close behind him, breathing through his open mouth and trying to inhale as little as possible.</p><p>Like an all-access pass, Mac's badge was the charm that got them through the locked door, with its wire-toughened glass, and into the greasy reception area.</p><p>"Simon Fitch," said the young man who had buzzed them in.  He thrust out an eager hand, which Mac ignored, much to Don's amusement.  "Day warden," Fitch continued, undaunted.  His lanky body, in its cheap suit, took on a servile cast and a pair of watery eyes darted from one detective to the other.  "Always happy to be of service to New York's finest..."</p><p><em>Save it, </em>Don's face warned him.  "Eric Volker.  Room number."</p><p>"You know," the warden offered in an educational tone, "good manners cost nothing..."</p><p>His voice died away when Mac scowled at him.</p><p>"<em>Please,</em>" Don said, slowly and deliberately.</p><p>Fitch shook his head.  "Room fifteen," he muttered.  "Guy's in there right now.  You want me to come along?"  His expression was hopeful; the face of a man who was itching for a little excitement.</p><p>"No, thanks.  I think we can take it from here."  With a token nod in Fitch's direction and a quick survey of the signs on the mildewed wall, Mac strode towards the staircase that led to the upper floors and rooms five through twenty.</p><p>"Charming fellow," Don muttered conversationally, as they climbed.  "I really think he liked us."</p><p>"What's not to like?"  Mac shot him a wry look.</p><p>Eric Volker's room was on the third floor of the halfway house.  Standing outside in the hallway, Don felt the same sense of nervous anticipation that always filled him when he encountered a hidden suspect.  One hand reached around to rest on his service weapon as Mac knocked on the open door.  Inside the room, Don heard voices but they were muffled; a television running in the background.</p><p>"Eric Volker?" Mac called out, with a sideways glance at his colleague.</p><p>Abruptly, the voices disappeared.  Beneath Volker's feet, the floor creaked.  Don could hear him shuffling on the other side of the door as he ventured a reply.  "Who wants to know?"</p><p>"That would be the NYPD," Don said, pulling his gun from the holster.  Better safe than sorry.</p><p>"One second, officers."  A series of clicks and rattles kept them waiting as Volker unlocked his door.  When it finally opened, Don was startled to behold a youthful man with golden hair and the face of an angel; perfectly chiselled and bright with innocence.  "Now then - what can I do for you?"</p><p>"You can come with us," Mac informed him.  "You're under arrest."</p><p>"Are you serious?  On what charge?" Volker asked reasonably.</p><p>"Let's see," Don said.  "I think I'm gonna start with contaminating a crime scene, follow that up with a charge of just-plain-stupid, and finish off with abduction of a minor.  How does that grab you?"</p><p>For a moment, Volker said nothing at all - just stared at them both with that dazzling gaze of his.  Then he reached out his hands, clasped together at the wrists.  His lips curled, as though he found the whole situation both curious and absurd.  "Better take me in, then," he told them.</p><p>Since Volker was clearly unarmed, Don holstered his gun and leaned forward with his cuffs instead.  At the same time, in a move so fast that neither man saw it coming, Volker's left hand clenched into a fist and flew upwards, catching the detective full in the face.  Don reeled back, stunned by the force of the blow, one hand pressed against his eye as the cuffs fell to the floor.  Letting out a wild laugh, Volker fled, shoving Mac against the wall with unexpected strength.</p><p>"Get him," Don snarled.  "For God's sake, get him, Mac."</p><p>The detective needed no encouragement.  Already, he was up and away, racing down the hallway in pursuit of the golden-haired suspect.  Don followed, but his head was spinning from the force of the blow, making spatial awareness something of an issue.  When at last he stumbled down the stairs, he found Mac at the bottom with Eric Volker pinned in what looked like a death grip.  One arm was clamped around his neck and the other one held his wrist back in a painful contortion, right up beyond his shoulder blades.  "I'll say it again," Mac growled.  "You're under arrest."</p><p>"'Kay," Volker squeaked, submissive now that he had no other choice.</p><p>Don gave Mac a nod that was pure gratitude; more than words could express.  Tentatively, he pulled his hand away from his face.  Seeing Mac wince was the only commentary he needed.</p><p>"You," he told Volker, leaning in so far that he caught a whiff of the man's breath - peppermint, of course, to go with his sweet expression - "you owe me.  I want a full confession or I'm gonna add assaulting an officer to the list of charges, and trust me when I say that one ain't no favourite down at the precinct."</p><p>Mac released his arm from the young man's throat, just a fraction.  Volker took a gasping breath.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he wheezed.  "I was just trying to get away."</p><p>"I'm sorry too," Don informed him.  "I don't do sympathy."</p><p>Floored by the detective's cock-eyed logic, Volker considered this statement and then tried again.  "I'll tell you anything, but please believe me - I'm no pervert.  You can't pin the kid's abduction on me.  I'm the clean-up guy, pure and simple."</p><p>"Convince us," Mac said grimly.</p><p>"Gentlemen," Volker offered, moulding his features into a look of contrition that would have made Don frown in disgust, if his left eye hadn't swollen shut by now.  "It would be my absolute pleasure..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>The interrogation room was cold - or maybe Mac was so far beyond tired that his body was reserving all its energy for the simple task of keeping him upright.  Warmth appeared to be a secondary requirement.  Drawing his jacket close around his chest, he glared at the golden-haired man who waited on the opposite side of the table.  "Talk," he snapped, reluctant to waste energy on superfluous words either.  After this, Mac decided, he was going to find the nearest couch and force his mind to switch off so that he could sleep, if only for an hour or so.  It would be crazy to ignore the signs.  That way led to exhaustion, and the kind of mistakes that could cost a young girl her life.</p><p>Beside him, Don Flack smouldered with silent fury.</p><p>"Better that I should do the talking, don't you think?" Mac had suggested, before they stepped into the room.  He had seen Don watching Volker through the glass and he recognised the dangerous gleam in his friend's good eye.  "At least to begin with."</p><p>"If you say so."  Don's reply had been nonchalant - and didn't fool Mac in the slightest.  Walking past them at that moment, a young rookie had glanced at the detective and his mouth had formed a little 'o' shape before he scuttled away in haste, driven off by a single blue-eyed glare.</p><p>"I mean it, Don.  This case is far too important.  We can't afford to jeopardise Ruth's safety because of your personal prejudice against Volker."</p><p>"Personal prejudice?  Have you <em>seen</em> my face?  Did you <em>hear</em> the guys in the squad room when we got here?  I'm never gonna live it down, okay, 'cause they won't let me.  Pardon me if I don't wanna be best friends with the guy who did this.  And trust me, Mac.  You've always trusted me before.  This time ain't no different."</p><p>With a quiet nod, Mac had held his tongue from then on, leading the way through the door.  Both men sat down and Volker stared at them nervously.  When Mac issued his abrupt command, the suspect twitched.</p><p>"I told you I'd confess," he argued.  "I'm not a liar."</p><p>"Just a criminal, then," Don muttered.</p><p>Volker shrugged.  "As you say.  If an over-use of bleach and a punch in the face - once again, sorry about that, Detective - can be counted as criminal activities."</p><p>"You'd better believe it..."</p><p>Mac interrupted smoothly, leaning forwards.  "Right now, it's the bleach that interests me.  As for the punch in the face - well, that's between you and my friend here.  I could leave you two alone right now, if you like..."  He glanced back at Don, who gave a suitably dark look that made Volker wriggle again.</p><p>"It was a contract, okay?  I was hired.  I'm known around the neighbourhood for certain... services."</p><p>"You clean up other people's work," Mac said, by way of clarification.</p><p>Volker nodded.  "Precisely.  I bought the bleach at a local bodega.  Remember that cell phone you took off me when we got here?  Check the texts - you'll find a whole series of conversations between me and the man you're really looking for."</p><p>"Name."  Don folded his arms and glared at Volker.</p><p>"I don't know.  I'm sorry, Detective, really I am.  Turns out, I'm not as scrupulous as I thought I was."  He winced.  "You caught me, after all.  But the guy who hired me - he's no fool.  All he gave was an alias.  Mr. Piper - that's what he calls himself.  You want to run with that, knock yourselves out.  He won't be on anyone's database, I can guarantee it."</p><p>"What makes you say that?" Mac asked curiously.</p><p>"I asked around.  I like to do that when someone hires me; you know, like checking references?  No one knew this guy.  That made me nervous, but I needed the work, so I chose to believe he was simply good enough to keep himself below the radar."</p><p>Don sneered.  "Guess his only mistake was hiring you."</p><p>"Yes, apparently," Volker agreed, without malice.  "If you catch him, I expect he'll point that out as well."</p><p>"Did you see this Piper?" Mac insisted.  "Or the girl?"</p><p>"I saw an empty car.  Look, Detective Taylor, I had no idea this was a kidnapping case.  I have a moral compass, just like you, even if our settings aren't quite the same.  I'm no monster.  I agreed to help you, didn't I?  So I'm telling you; check my cell phone.  That's all the proof you'll need.  You can track this Piper guy and find the girl."  Volker gave a winning smile but Mac was dubious.  Scraping the legs of his chair against the hard floor, he rose to his feet.</p><p>"I'll do that," he agreed.  "But if I don't find anything worthwhile, I'm coming right back to <em>you</em>."  Slowly, he walked to the door, pausing at the very last minute to deliver his final, crushing blow.  "While I'm gone, I'll leave you in the capable hands of Detective Flack.  I'm sure you two have plenty to talk about..."</p><p>He didn't need to look at Volker's face to picture his horrified expression.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Clean at last and dressed in a pair of fresh pyjamas, Adam padded down the corridor, clutching Mr. Boo to his chest with both arms.  Mr. Boo was an old black cat; a well-loved toy - the only thing Adam possessed that had never belonged to Charlie.  He was the silent recipient of all Adam's whispered secrets but he also had a secret of his own.  Beneath his left arm was a hole where the stitches had worn away.  Safe in the bedroom, while Charlie was having his bath, Adam had murmured an apology to Mr. Boo and then removed several handfuls of his stuffing, pushing it under the mattress where no one would find it.  Then he had poked the red sock through the hole, spreading it out with the blunt end of a pencil until Mr. Boo looked just as he always did.  No one would know the difference.  No one but Adam.</p><p>One thing remained - to sew up the hole.  Pausing outside his sister's bedroom, Adam called to her.  "Mary?  Is it okay... can I come in?"</p><p>He didn't expect a reply and none was forthcoming.  Instead, Mary pulled open the door just a crack and smiled at him with genuine fondness, beckoning him inside.  "Thank you," he said politely, and made Mr. Boo nod his head in thanks as well.</p><p>Jumping onto Mary's bed, he let the mattress settle before he curled his feet beneath him and stared at his sister in mute appeal.</p><p>"What is it, Adam?"  Her voice was soft and pleasant.  She never raised it; not ever.  Adam couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing - but he loved her for her gentle nature.  Sitting down beside him, she gave Mr. Boo a tickle beneath his scraggy chin.</p><p>Adam pushed at his face from the inside until it wore a look of perfect innocence.  He knew that Mary couldn't resist his big blue eyes and he used that knowledge shamelessly.  "I need your help.  Mr. Boo is leaking."</p><p>"Leaking?"  Mary smiled.  "That sounds serious."</p><p>"It is.  He needs sur-ger-y."</p><p>"An operation?"  Taking the cat, she turned him around in her hands until she found the hole.  Adam held his breath.  "I can do that.  Leave him with me, okay?"</p><p>"Will you... can you do it now?"  His fingers twitched in yearning and his eyes grew even wider.  "Please...?  You're my favourite sister."</p><p>"Adam, I'm your only sister.  And I have a mountain of homework to get through before I go to bed.  Math.  I hate math."  Grinning suddenly, she nodded.  "You know what?  I could take a break - but you'll have to assist me.  If I'm the doctor, you're the nurse."</p><p>"Nurses are girls," Adam said with horror.</p><p>"Nurses are boys as well.  Doesn't Mrs Roberts teach you anything?"</p><p>He shook his head.  "I teach myself.  She's boring.  Okay, so I'm a boy nurse and you're a girl doctor.  What do we need?"</p><p>Mary pointed to her bookshelf.  "That box over there.  My sewing kit... I mean, my surgical instruments.  Can you bring it here?  I'll prep the patient."</p><p>Slithering down from the bed, Adam fetched the box and opened it up.  With great care, he selected a needle and a reel of black thread.  "Perfect," said the 'doctor'.  "Let's begin."  Adam squeaked as she pricked Mr. Boo with a pin.  "Anaesthetic," she explained.  "He won't feel a thing now.  He's fast asleep."</p><p>"An-aes-thetic," Adam repeated dutifully.  "Thank you, Doctor Mary."</p><p>Crouching beside her on the floor, he craned his neck and watched with bated breath as she sewed up the hole, securing the sock for ever.  A warm, fuzzy sense of satisfaction crept through his body.  His plan had worked.  His secret was safe.  Mr. Boo would look after the sock and he could hold them both in his arms all night, to keep the Bad Things at bay.</p><p>Mary tied a knot and ran the end of the thread back through Mr. Boo to hide it.  "Now all we need to do is wake the patient," she smiled.  "The operation was a great success."</p><p>"Thank you, Mary," Adam said fervently, squeezing the cat in his arms.  "Mr. Boo says 'thank you' too."</p><p>"I should hope so."  Mary's voice was solemn but her eyes were bright.  "Now then - would you like to stay a little while?  If you're quiet, I mean?  I have to get on with my homework but it's nice to have you around."</p><p>The compliment was better than candy.  "Maybe I can help you?" Adam suggested, wanting to give her something in return.  "I like math."</p><p>His sister gave a chuckle -and she didn't say 'no'.  Encouraged, he rose to his feet and wandered over to her desk, peering at the open book.  "Can I try it?"</p><p>When Mary didn't reply, he turned back to stare at her - and saw that she was frozen in place on the bed, still clutching the needle between her finger and thumb.  A chill ran down his back.  She was Listening, he could tell.  On her face was a look of dismay.  Adam froze like Mary and Listened too.</p><p>It started with a Hum, just as it always did.  The Hum was a horrible sound; quiet at first but growing louder, like a warning that told you a Bad Thing was on its way.  Adam's skin prickled with fear and he started to tremble violently as the Hum swelled into the Voices...</p><p>"...house is a pigsty.  What have you done all day?  Nothing!  What kind of mother...?"</p><p>"...Charles, that isn't true.  You're not being fair..."</p><p>"...see the boy?  His manners are shameful and he's got no pride.  I keep saying it; you need to cut the apron strings.  Let me take him in hand.  I'll teach him a lesson or two about good behaviour.  But oh no, you whine and you pull that face, and like a fool I listen.  No longer, Harriet.  I'm warning you..."</p><p>"...Adam."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"His name is Adam.  Not 'the boy'.  And he's seven years old, Charles...  NO!"</p><p>The cry of pain ripped through Adam's head.  He clapped his hands to his ears, still clutching Mr. Boo, who dangled down beside his face, staring at him with button-eyed sympathy.</p><p>No more Voices.  Only muffled Sounds, and they were the worst thing of all.</p><p>"Come here," Mary whispered.  Stiffly, she beckoned to him and he stumbled to the bed.  "Stay with me," she begged, and he could see that she was close to tears.  Together, they curled up with Mr. Boo tucked in between them.  Mary lifted her Walkman from the bedside table and plugged the headphones in carefully, before setting them on Adam's head and clicking the 'play' button.  Her escape.  She had given him her own escape and now she had nothing.  Adam wrapped his arms around her as the tape hissed in his ears and Freddie Mercury began to sing.</p><p>
  <em>"Oh, oh, people of the earth,<br/></em>
  <em>listen to the warning<br/>the seer he said.<br/>Beware the storm that gathers here.<br/>Listen to the wise man..."</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>"The Pied Piper?"  Lindsay frowned at the picture on the screen.  "Isn't that a fairy tale?  I'm thinking rats... and a river?"</p><p>"Actually more of a legend," Adam said.  "And a famous poem - by some English guy called Robert Browning.  I looked it up."  He frowned in concentration, staring at the air to her left as though it held a perfect copy of the information he had found online.  "No, wait.  You're right, because the Brothers Grimm wrote a story about him too.  Sorry, Lindsay..."  She could see the concern in his eyes; concern for <em>her</em> and her wounded feelings.</p><p>"Don't apologise," she told him, folding her arms.  "I'm not mad - I'm interested.  I didn't know all that.  Keep right on sharing, Mister Clever Clogs."</p><p>"Oh.  Okay, thanks."  His shy delight made her blush, and she moved on quickly.</p><p>"Why do you think this poem, or legend, or fairy tale - whatever it is - is so important?"</p><p>Encouraged by her friendly attitude, he obliged with a smile.  "It's a really, <em>really</em> old legend about a town in Germany that's overrun with rats, and this weird guy - the Piper - who comes along and promises to help them, for a price.  When he plays his magic tune, the rats come running and they follow him all through the streets, till he drowns them in the river; every single one.  He should come to New York, right?  For real, I mean.  He'd make a fortune."  Reaching out to the screen, Adam touched his fingertips to the merry, dancing line.  "When the job was done, the people refused to pay.  So the Piper played again... and he took their children."  Lindsay felt a shiver chasing down her spine at his ominous words.  "See the point?  He enchanted them, just like the rats.  Took them far away and their parents never found them."</p><p>She blinked.  "What?  You think... Ruth's been <em>enchanted</em>?  Adam, this is the real world, not some fairy tale - however grim."  He winced at the pun as she continued.  "Things like that don't happen here."</p><p>"Yes, they do."  Adam was bolder now; stubborn in his certainty.  "Con men, paedophiles, magicians, hypnotists...  Movie stars."  Lindsay spotted a twinkle in his eye and knew that he had thrown in the last example as a little joke of his own.  "They can make you believe things are real.  <em>Crazy</em> things.  Isn't that a kind of enchantment?  I think this 'Pied Piper' is Ruth's friend, or so she believes.  Not the poem-guy," he added, just in case she had any more doubts about his sanity.  "More like someone who identifies with him.  It's a mask he's wearing.  I think he... or, you know, maybe <em>she</em>... told Ruth exactly what she wanted to hear.  And I think he's enticed her away."</p><p>"Okay.  Say you're right.  How did he manage it?"</p><p>Adam frowned.  "I haven't worked that out yet.  I'm sorry..."</p><p>"Stop being sorry, for goodness' sake!  Adam, it's a good theory.  A <em>very</em> good theory, actually.  You should keep working on it.  And tell Mac as soon as you can.  He ought to know this."</p><p>"Um..."  Adam stared through the glass at Mac's empty office.  Trying not to laugh at his worried expression, Lindsay turned her attention back to the screen instead.</p><p>"Have you checked her emails?  Social media?  You know what teenagers are like these days.  Half their life is spent online."</p><p>Adam's eyes narrowed, creasing at the sides.  He ran his hand through his hair.  "You think I should have done that already?"</p><p>Lindsay felt a wave of sympathy.  Who didn't want to be perfect on their first day?  A sudden, comical notion popped into her head, making her grin as she tried to picture the twitchy lab tech face to face with a live tiger; Mac Taylor watching his every move.  <em>No way,</em> she thought.  <em>I win.</em>  "Follow your instincts," she told him kindly.  "You're doing great.  Just make sure you're thorough.  Check and double check; triple, if you have to.  Speaking of which..."  She pulled a face.  "I think I'd better go back to Ruth's stories and read them again with your Piper in mind.  You can do the same with the ones on her laptop, right?"</p><p>"Look for a mountain, too," he suggested, bringing up the passage on the screen.  "Or any kind of place that feels like Utopia for a lonely girl.  If we find enough details in her stories, we might be able to work out where she thought he was going to take her."</p><p>"Utopia?"  Not a word she would have expected him to use.  Mentally, she revised her opinion of this strange young man, chiding herself for making assumptions about his character.</p><p>He wriggled in his seat, understanding the tone of her query.  "I like words.  Sorry to give you more work, Lindsay."</p><p>There it was again.  Lindsay's hands were on her hips by now in a gesture that - far too belatedly - reminded her of her mother.  "That's three times.  Look, Adam, never apologise for doing your job.  What you've found is a set of keys that could unlock Ruth's secret, and we need to try them all.  Besides, if I've learned anything about this place in the last week or two, it's how much they value teamwork.  <em>Really</em> value it, I mean.  This isn't a one-man - or one-<em>woman</em> - show."  She fixed her gaze upon him to make sure he was paying attention.  "Whatever you come up with, let me know, okay?  The crazier, the better.  Sometimes, 'outside the box' is right where we need to be."</p><p>Walking out of the AV lab, Lindsay could feel his blue eyes following her in return.  <em>Did I go too far?  Was I too condescending?  </em>She was all too aware of her own rookie status.  Adam seemed like a sweet guy - <em>and now look who's worried about people's feelings.</em></p><p>With a sigh, she shrugged off her doubts and headed back to the Layout room.  Condescending or not, her words had been truthful.  She really did believe that Adam was on the right track and she couldn't wait to test his theory for herself.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>It took Mac twenty minutes to get from the elevator to his office.  Every single time he took a step in the right direction, someone else accosted him, with files, or questions, or forms to sign.  Granted, he couldn't fault them for that and he knew it.  He'd been out of the lab for several hours, and yes, he <em>had</em> made it perfectly clear in the past that any important information needed to pass through him.  But really, did it have to happen all at once? </p><p>As he scrawled his name for the umpteenth time on some official waste of paper, he caught sight of that new lab tech, Ross, watching him nervously from the AV lab.  Wait - was he scowling again?  His own reflection in the glass was faint, but he could see how his expression might be construed as a little irate.  Carefully, he smoothed his features into something more approachable, just as Stella rounded the corner and came towards him, looking as vibrant as ever.  One day, Mac decided, he would have to ask her how she did that.</p><p>"What's with the face?" Stella asked, as the young girl from Personnel - dammit, <em>what</em> was her name? - scuttled away with her clipboard and her prize; a sheaf of forms that finally bore his signature.</p><p>Instead of a verbal answer, Mac gave Stella a look which told her everything she needed to know.  "How's <em>your</em> day been?" he challenged her.</p><p>"Took me forever to tie up the loose ends on the Hanson case but I'm done now, thank goodness.  You want my help, you got it, okay?"</p><p>"Then help me get into my office," he growled under his breath as yet another white coat changed direction and headed towards him.</p><p>Stella laughed and led the way.  "Mac," she sang out loudly, "I need to speak with you in private."  Simple but effective.  The lab tech sighed and took the hint, disappearing into the Trace lab as Mac reached his destination at last and sank down into his chair with a sigh of relief.  Staring at him, Stella shook her head.</p><p>"I'll tell you the same thing I told Lindsay this morning.  Take a break."</p><p>"Soon," he promised.  "There's one more thing I need to do."  Yet again, his attention was caught by the sight of Adam Ross peering over the row of screens, and he frowned.  <em>Two </em>more things, then.  Clearly, the new guy needed a lecture on privacy.  Startled by Mac's angry expression, the blue eyes vanished, as did the raised eyebrows and the top of Adam's head.</p><p>"Are you <em>trying</em> to scare him out of his wits?" Stella asked with some amusement, having watched the whole exchange.  "Some kind of first day hazing I don't know about?"</p><p>Mac shrugged.  "He's the one who keeps staring."</p><p>"Probably because he wants to tell you something and he's waiting for the right opportunity.  Which is never going to come if you keep glaring at him like that.  Or me," she added, when his gaze swivelled towards her mercilessly.  "It's a valid hypothesis, Mac.  Cut the poor guy some slack.  Go and talk to him."</p><p>Seconds ago, he had planned to do just that - in a manner of speaking.  Why did being 'told' always make him feel so defensive?  "In time," he said.  Setting down an evidence bag, he slid it across his desk and Stella peered at the contents with interest.</p><p>"A cell phone?"</p><p>"A lead.  I wish I could say I was hopeful.  So far, this is the closest we've come to the man who took Ruth Eggar."</p><p>"Then you've got a suspect.  Other than her father?"</p><p>"We've got the Clean-Up Guy.  He's down at the precinct with Flack."  Mac gave a tight smile that faded quickly.  "As for Eggar - he's not blameless in all of this; not by any means.  He made Ruth's home a place of danger, when it should have been a haven.  That's what made her vulnerable.  Show me the evidence that proves the extent of his brutality and I'll lock him away with pleasure.  Let him have a taste of his own medicine."</p><p>"Bully?" Stella said with an expression of distaste.</p><p>"The worse.  If you'd seen his family..."</p><p>Silence filled the room.  Mac longed to break it but he couldn't find the words.  Frustration rendered him mute and he rose to his feet, avoiding Stella's eyes.  "If you want to help," he said at last, "find Lindsay.  She has all the evidence from Eggar's apartment."  <em>Nail the bastard,</em> he pleaded with his eyes, and Stella seemed to understand.  With a brief nod, she left the room.  Mac stood in the doorway for a moment, breathing deeply to calm himself, before crossing to the AV lab.</p><p>Ironically, Adam failed to see him coming.  His eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him, and his fingers were flying across the keyboard.</p><p>"Playing games?" Mac said, in a stern voice that was guaranteed to make the young man jump.  "On the Crime Lab system?"</p><p>As he had predicted, Adam's head jerked up in fright.  The chair shot out from under him and rolled halfway across the room as he scrambled to his feet.  "Mac... Boss... Oh!  Detective Taylor, there you are...  Um, this is... well, it really isn't what it looks like..."  His tone was breathless and, for a moment, Mac feared that Adam might actually begin to hyperventilate, right there in the middle of the AV lab.  Folding his arms, he waited as the young man fought for control of his voice.  It was a struggle, but Adam prevailed - somehow.  "Please let me explain," he begged, pressing his palms together.</p><p>"Adam, I'm a reasonable man."  Mac tried to evade the guilt he felt at having been the cause of such an overwhelming reaction.  "Tell me what you're up to and if there's a logical explanation, I'll be the first to apologise for doubting you."</p><p>"Okay.  Thank you, Sir...  Boss.  Detective."</p><p>"Mac," he said, with all the patience he could muster.  "Call me Mac."  It was plain and far less easy to mangle.</p><p>Adam nodded.  His gaze was fixed on the floor, making Mac feel quite uncomfortable.  "Go on," the detective prompted carefully.  "I'm listening."  Both men were keenly aware that their exchange was in full view.  Lab techs passing by on the other side of the glass kept their own heads lowered and their eyes averted.  Mac clenched his jaw as he caught sight of the flush rising up Adam's neck.  Dammit.  <em>Not the way to end your first day,</em> he thought with unexpected pity for the young man's plight.  Had he made a mistake after all and hired someone who was emotionally unfit to cope with the strain of working at the lab?  Nerves like these were a big problem.  They could seriously hamper Adam's ability to do his job...</p><p>But now the man was speaking, and suddenly Mac found that he was hanging on every hurried word.</p><p>"This game, okay; I wasn't playing it.  I wouldn't do that, not here.  It's the only thing on Ruth's computer that I hadn't already looked at - emails were a bust; nothing there, which is odd for a teenager, right?  And I've never heard of it before so I thought, you know, while I was waiting for you to finish talking with Detective Bona... Bonasera, I'd check it out.  And now here you are, I guess, so I'll tell you what I...  Look, Boss... um, Mac.  This is what I've found and I think it could be important."  Moving from the main desk to a small laptop nearby, he ran his finger over the pad and a picture popped up on the screen; Ruth's background image.</p><p>Mac took a sharp, involuntary breath.</p><p>"The Pied Piper of Hamelin," he said.</p><p>Adam was thrilled.  "You know it," he said, full of admiration.  Moving closer, he studied Mac shrewdly, his own face eager, though his body language still carried echoes of his former distress.  "Then... you get it, don't you?  Mac, this character means such a lot to Ruth.  He's there in her stories, all over the place - we checked; not always the Piper by name, okay, but you can tell it's him.  We think - Lindsay and me - we think..."</p><p>"This is her secret 'friend'.  The one who took her."</p><p>"Wait - you agree with us?  Just like that?"  Adam's eyes were wide with astonishment, and a hint of something that looked like pride.</p><p>Mac shook his head slightly.  "I don't <em>agree</em>, Adam.  I know.  You've hit the nail right on the head - you and <em>Lindsay</em>."  Smiling, he waved the bag containing Volker's cell phone.  "Leave the game.  I've got another job for you."</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The album in Mary's Walkman is 'A Night at the Opera' by Queen, and the track is 'The Prophet's Song'.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Thomas lay in bed and stared at the inside of his eyelids, trying to convince himself that he was seconds away from sleep.  Heat pressed up against his body like a second skin.  On the floor, his sheets lay in a tangle where he had thrown them.  His pillow was a solid, sweaty lump.  Boxer shorts and a Pink Floyd t-shirt were all that he wore, but even they felt oppressive, clinging to him with such intimacy that he began to feel an irrational sense of panic.  <em>If I lie here much longer, </em>he thought, <em>I'm going to melt and slip right through the mattress like some B-movie monster.  Thomas the Blob...</em></p><p>That image made him scramble to sit upright, gasping for air in a room that seemed to hold none at all.</p><p>"I can't stand this," he grumbled to the shadows.  "I'm getting out of here."</p><p>It took a while to detach his arms and legs from the bottom sheet.  Standing up at last, he gave a shudder that had nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature and everything to do with his unsettled state of mind.</p><p>"Weird day," he complained, as he plodded down the stairs.  Very weird, in fact, and with the fearful clarity that always came to him at three o' clock in the morning, he could see the flaws in every single decision he had made since crossing the road and taking Adam into his home.  That was the circular theme of his brooding, and had been from the moment he set his head down on the pillow, hours earlier.</p><p>Adam.</p><p>How had one small boy burrowed into his thoughts so completely in such a short space of time?  And what on earth should he do about it?  After all, he was the adult; the responsible one, to all intents and purposes.  He'd offered Adam an open invitation - but what if the boy did return?  How far should he let it go, this friendship, or whatever it was?</p><p>"Don't be stupid."  Thomas pushed away the errant questions.  "You helped him out and that's enough.  He won't come back.  Why would he?  Just forget about it?"</p><p>Turning on the kitchen light, he gave a guilty start when he saw the mess creeping over every surface; remnants of the sandwich party and his own half-eaten supper.  Easy to ignore last thing at night, when he could walk away and make excuses.  Difficult to face when he came back to it like this.  He could blame his lack of domesticity on the second-rate boarding schools that had raised him on behalf of his absentee parents, but there was an honest reason too, and the witching hour left him no place to hide from his own shortcomings.  "You're a slob," he told himself bitterly, searching the counter in vain for a clean glass.  In the end, he took a long drink of orange juice from the carton, pouring it straight down his dry throat so quickly that he began to feel quite sick.  Thomas staggered over to the table, sinking down with a heavy sigh and resting his head on his hands.</p><p>"This is fun," said an unexpected voice beside him.</p><p>The echo made him start.  He looked up - and found, to his relief, that no one else was there.  Only the ghost of a boy; wide-eyed and cheerful as he smeared peanut butter onto bread with questionable skill and great enthusiasm.  Thomas smiled in spite of himself and lingered in the memory.</p><p>"Try some jelly beans.  They'll make it sweet, and kind of chewy."</p><p>"Okay.  Thank you, Mister Thomas."</p><p>Adam had been breathless with excitement - <em>over a sandwich and a bit of silliness,</em> Thomas thought with some consternation, coming back to the present and the overwhelming state of his neglected kitchen.  His mind was trapped in a loop; a kind of doublethink.  He wanted to know more - to understand Adam and his situation - yet he did not want to know at all because the truth would bring its own dilemma.</p><p>"I'm so sorry," he confessed to the boy who wasn't there.  Spoken aloud, the words sounded weak and terribly selfish.  "I don't know how to handle this."</p><p>"Don't worry," said a whisper.  "It's okay.  I understand..."</p><p>Thomas stared at the rubble and the scattered candy.  Guilt took him by the shoulders and shook him.  "Not good enough," he said at last.  Rising to his feet, he began to collect the dishes.  As he did so, in his mind, the loop began again...</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Adam could have worked throughout the night, he was so absorbed by the task of sifting through Volker's messages and contacts as he attempted to find a trail that led to the elusive Mr. Piper.  In the end, it was Mac, of all people, who sent him home.  "Don't fall into that habit," the detective cautioned.  "Trust me; it's not good for you.  This isn't college, where you can pull an all-nighter and sleep in the next day, or doze through your classes.  This job is life and death."</p><p>"Yes, sir."  Thrilling though it was that Mac had given permission for Adam to use his first name, instinct was difficult to fight and he knew it would be a long time before he did so freely.</p><p>Mac gave a wry grin.  "I'm not promising to lead by example, mind you.  I'm just offering advice.  Take it, Adam.  Go home and get some rest.  Maybe you'll get a fresh perspective in the morning."</p><p>Peering at his watch, Adam couldn't resist a sly question.  "Are you leaving too?"</p><p>"I am," Mac said, and this time, the grin was wider.  "I hate to think what Stella will say if I don't."</p><p>"And zombies won't help Ruth Eggar, right?"</p><p>"Something like that," Mac shrugged.  "Did you make notes on what you've learned so far?"</p><p>Adam tapped his notebook.  "I did.  And you know, if you wanted... I could just run through..."</p><p>"Is there anything urgent?  A real name for our suspect?  A way to find Ruth?"</p><p> "No, I guess not.  The Piper used a burn phone - it's off right now - and most of the strands between them consist of instructions for Volker.  A business deal, by text.  What to do; where to go; how to get paid."  Glaring at the cell phone, Adam's eyes were full of disappointment.  It would have been quite something to break his very first case on the very first day.  Not to mention the fact that he would be saving a young girl from danger.  Like a superhero, he thought wistfully.  <em>Yeah, right.  'Cause that's what you are, Adam Ross...</em></p><p>Mac's lips were moving again.  Adam realised that he hadn't heard a single word.  "I'm sorry, Boss," he said carefully.  "I missed the last bit.  What did you say?"</p><p>"I said, in that case, you can brief everyone on your findings in the morning.  At the team meeting.  Eight o' clock sharp."  Was that... concern on Mac's face?  "Think you can handle it?"</p><p>"Oh sure; no problem.  I'll look forward to it."  Adam bit his lip.  Ridiculous choice of words, but he couldn't take them back.  Already, Mac was passing through the doorway, heading off down the corridor in the direction of his office.  <em>Going home?</em> Adam thought.  <em>I doubt it.  </em>For the boss man, he suspected, there would always be 'one more thing'.</p><p>Working on until he found a suitable place to stop, Adam cleared away all trace of hiw own work with absolute care and precision.  Then he collected his coat and his bag from the locker room - so exciting, to see his name in print like that - and made his way back up the short run of steps to the elevator.  Just as the doors were closing, another man ducked through to join him.</p><p>"Long day," said the stranger, with a friendly wink.  "First for you, right?  I ain't seen your face before."</p><p>"Oh - no.  I mean, yes, that's right; I'm new.  My name's Adam.  Ross, that is."  One day, Adam sighed to himself, he was going to get the hang of first contact.</p><p>Fortunately, this man was a natural.  "Danny Messer," he said, sticking out his hand as the car gave a jolt and began to drop.  Adam wobbled and clung to Danny's palm a little longer than he meant to but the other man pretended not to notice.</p><p><em>I like you,</em> Adam thought.  "Are you a lab tech too?" he asked, letting go of Danny's hand at last and reaching for the rail to steady himself.</p><p>"CSI.  That means you get to stay indoors all nice and cosy, while I'm out trudgin' the streets in the pourin' rain... workin' crime scenes and lookin' for leads..."  The twinkle in Danny's blue eyes, behind his glasses, made it perfectly clear that he was happy to do so, in spite of his complaint.</p><p>"Is it raining?  Really?  I hadn't noticed."</p><p>Danny gave him a searching look.  "Mm-hmm.  You do look a little pasty, my friend.  Did they warn you about the toll this job takes on your personal life?  Vampires and lab geeks - you know what they have in common?"</p><p>"We do our best work at night?" Adam suggested quietly.</p><p>With a chuckle of surprise, Danny clapped him on the shoulder.  "Okay, buddy, I'll give you that one.  Fancy a drink, to celebrate your loss of freedom?  Some of us are meetin' down at Sully's."</p><p>The elevator reached the ground floor with another jerk.  Adam clenched his toes inside his sneakers.  <em>Some of us...</em>  "No thanks," he breathed.  "I'm good."</p><p>Once more, Danny peered at him shrewdly.  "If you say so.  Rain check, then?"  He let out another chuckle at the unintentional pun.</p><p>"Okay..."  Hanging back to button his jacket against the weather, Adam watched the CSI stroll through the lobby towards the front door.  Deep down, he knew he should have accepted the other man's offer - but the thought of being thrust into a group of strangers, all laughing and joking together, filled him with unreasoning alarm.  On any other night, he would have pushed himself.  Tonight, Adam needed to go home.  It had been quite a day - an emotional ride - and now, as he followed Danny out of the building and felt the cold rain sting his cheeks, bringing him back to himself, he realised just how deeply it had affected him.</p><p>Mac was right, and Danny too.  If he let it, this job could destroy him.</p><p>"I won't let that happen," he muttered, turning up his collar and clutching his messenger bag to his chest as he set off through the rain in search of the nearest subway station.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Adam was still getting used to the fact that he lived on his own - in a block full of random people, granted, but when he turned the key and walked into his own apartment, he felt a sense of privacy and freedom that was entirely new.  "I'm home," he called out to Nobody, dropping his bag on the floor and letting it lie there, simply because he could.  Of course, in a few minutes, his ridiculous compulsion would kick in and he would pick it up again, stashing it under the bed where it belonged.  But that was his choice too - and so Adam was happy.</p><p>Shrugging off his wet jacket, he hung it on the back of a chair to dry and flipped the switch on the kettle.  It was late - nine o' clock already - but a mug of coffee would warm him up.  The last thing he wanted to do was catch a chill on his very first day just because it was raining in New York.  Adam felt an unexpected twinge of homesickness for the dry heat of Arizona, but the steady patter on his window pane was friendly and the feeling soon passed.  It was nice to be cosy and warm when the world was dripping outside.  Pouring his drink, he wrapped his hands around the mug and sat at the table in perfect peace.  His eyes were closed and a smile played on his lips.</p><p>Set free by the stillness of his body, his mind began to roam, as it so often did, linking random thoughts with the same kind of logic that ruled in his dreams.  Detective Flack skipped by, dressed in a suit of red and yellow and playing on a pipe.  Zack followed, arm in arm with Stella Bonasera.  "No dancing in the crime lab," Mac's voice said from somewhere behind Adam's shoulder.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Adam murmured, caught up in the vision.</p><p>"No apologising either," Lindsay told him sternly.  Her hands were on her hips.  Beside her, Danny chuckled.</p><p>The floor began to sink - yet Mac was still behind him.  Adam could feel him breathing on his neck.  "Have you found her yet?" the Boss Man said.  "She's counting on you.  Come on, Adam.  This isn't a game..."</p><p>Adam's head jerked up and he realised that he had fallen asleep, right there at the table, both hands still wrapped around his mug of coffee, which was now stone cold.</p><p>
  <em>This isn't a game...</em>
</p><p>"I didn't finish," he said thickly, scraping back the chair and rising to his feet.  The thought was irritating, like an itch that needed to be scratched.  He had looked at everything - <em>almost</em> everything - on Ruth's laptop, but Mac had interrupted him right before he finished.  Adam hated loose threads.  If he wanted a dreamless sleep tonight, he needed some kind of closure.  Finding Ruth all by himself was out of the question... but he could still play the game.</p><p>Turning on his computer, he took some paper out of the printer and set it beside him so that he could jot down any useful information.  His little black notebook was safely stowed in his locker at work.  The thought of taking it beyond the walls of the crime lab had troubled him, now that it was full of sensitive information.  Adam was careful with his belongings but accidents could - and often <em>did</em> - happen.  Tempting fate was never wise.</p><p>The name of the game was rather intriguing, he thought, typing quickly and letting the search engine do the initial work for him.  'The Gates of Dawn' was a free download - surprising in itself, as very little on the internet was truly free.  Once you had the main software installed on your computer, a whole new world was open to you - literally.  Adam could tell right away that the realm of Aurora was highly derivative, taking its visual style from popular games like Final Fantasy and Kingdom Hearts.  It was filled with all the usual character types; some of them anthropomorphic and some of them human. Adam guessed that the game was pitched at teenagers, or confident children, which meant <em>most</em> children these days, but it appealed to him too.  He already had some experience with advanced MMORPG, and felt pretty confident that he could navigate his way through this one.  His vague and rather optimistic aim was to interact with as many other players as he could, carrying out a little online detective work, like a virtual private investigator.  Ruth may not have been a fan of emails but games often had their own communities, safe and anonymous.  Maybe here, at last, he would find some people who really knew her.</p><p>"Any excuse, right?" he grinned to himself, watching his evening meal spin round in the microwave as 'The Gates of Dawn' downloaded slowly.  When the last forkful of lasagne had made its way from the plastic tray to his belly (no washing up required), he was ready to begin.  He popped open a tube of Pringles and considered his options.  In the AV lab, he had managed to access the current statistics for Ruth's own character; a cat-girl with magical powers.  Not Adam's usual choice, but this was no ordinary gaming challenge.  Time to use his instincts, he decided, as he chose a cat-boy with dark hair, a long tail and a rather wistful expression, customising him to suit his mission.  'Name?' said the prompt, and Adam lingered for a moment.</p><p>"Boo," he typed in at last.  He was, after all, a creature of habit.</p><p>Settling back in his chair, he solved the simple number puzzle that opened the Gate, and set off on the first leg of his virtual quest as the real world disappeared around him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>MMORPG = Massively Multi-player Online Role Playing Game.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Adam sat at the back of the class and watched the dust motes dance in the long rays of sunlight that were streaming through the window.  He wanted to listen; he really did, but Mrs Roberts' voice was far less interesting than the joyful golden creatures all around his head.  When dust lay on a surface, it was grey and dull, and made his daddy shout.  When it spun through the air, it came alive.  <em>If I open my mouth,</em> Adam wondered, <em>will the dust fly inside?  Is it inside me already?  Is it inside Mrs Roberts?</em></p><p>That thought made his eyes grow wide and he smiled as he stared at the teacher.  <em>Big</em> <em>mistake,</em> he realised.  Now he had caught her attention; something he had managed to avoid all morning.</p><p>Mrs Roberts stopped talking, right in the middle of a sentence.  Around her, the shuffling and creaking ceased and the whole room fell silent, waiting to discover the unlucky target of her sharp tongue.  Several heads swivelled in Adam's direction and he sank down in his chair, golden motes forgotten.</p><p>"Adam.  Tell me what I just said," Mrs Roberts commanded, folding her arms.</p><p>A mean trick - and one that she often used.  Most of the time, when day-dreaming in school, Adam kept one small part of his brain tuned in to the lesson, just in case.  His uncanny knack of repeating her whole speech word for word was popular with the class but made Mrs Roberts look pinched and cross - a fact which confused him.  Wasn't he doing exactly what she wanted?</p><p>This time, he had been careless and his blank look gave it away.  Mrs Roberts pounced on him at once.  Words could be just as painful as blows - more so, in his experience.  Adam shrivelled and his voice betrayed him yet again as it lodged inside his throat, like a frightened rabbit in a burrow with a fox outside.</p><p>"..." he ventured.  Nothing came out and he dropped his head unhappily.</p><p>Mrs Roberts appealed to her captive audience.  "Adam doesn't think he has to listen.  He thinks he knows everything already."</p><p>Nearby, he heard Abbie giggle nervously, causing a ripple that spread through the room.  From the seat beside him, Julie gave his foot a comforting nudge.  Adam bit his lip and raised his head once more.</p><p>"I don't," he said clearly.  "I don't know lots of things.  I wish I did."</p><p>"Then why don't you listen to me when I'm speaking?"</p><p>"'Cause you don't know them either," Adam explained.  Having answered her question with honesty, he was startled by the flash of anger in her eyes, mingled with something that looked like fear.  He knew fear.  It was his enemy and he had faced it many times - but why was Mrs Roberts afraid?  No one was hurting her...</p><p><em>You did,</em> he realised, far too late.  <em>You hurt her with your words.  You're as bad as she is.</em></p><p>"I'm sorry," he whispered urgently, but now Mrs Roberts was right by his side.  Her fingers twitched, yet she did not touch him.</p><p>"Up," she said, and he rose to his feet, still trying to apologise.  Mrs Roberts pointed to the front of the classroom.  "Go and stand over there."</p><p>His legs felt as though they were stuffed with fluff, just like Mr. Boo.  They wobbled and shook as he stumbled past his classmates.  When he reached the end of his journey, he turned and saw that Mrs Roberts had squashed herself into his own seat, right next to Julie.</p><p>"Very well," she said.  "You're the genius; I'm the student.  I'm waiting - we all are.  Share your wisdom."</p><p>"Wh-what?"</p><p>"Teach me something I don't know.  If you're so clever and I'm so stupid."  Her voice was bitter and it frightened him.</p><p>"I don't...  I never said..."</p><p>The world was slowing down around him.  He could feel their eyes upon his face.  There was no laughter now.  The whole class waited as the seconds ticked by slowly and not a sound came from Adam's mouth.  He couldn't do it.  He couldn't say a word.  All the thoughts in his head had ground to a halt and he was locked in a terrible nightmare of shame that seemed to have no end.</p><p>"I'm waiting," Mrs Roberts said.  Her voice was trembling, just like his legs, and he knew that she had trapped herself as well.  This scene was her creation but she had lost control of it.</p><p>There was only one way out.</p><p>Adam stared at Mrs Roberts, pleading with her to understand.  Their eyes met for a moment.  "Sorry," he burst out.</p><p>She rose, but far too late, as Adam fled the room completely.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Punctuality had always been one of Mac's virtues.  Even so, at precisely oh eight hundred hours (as he still liked to call it in his head), he was not the first person to arrive at the conference room but the second; a fact which made him smile.</p><p>"How long have you been standing there?" he asked the young lab tech who was waiting at the door.  "Go in," he added, by way of a helpful aside.  Adam hopped over the threshold and came to a stumbling halt when he reached the large table with its many chairs.  Instantly, Mac saw his dilemma.  "No politics here.  Sit anywhere you like."</p><p>"Okay.  Thanks.  And, you know, not long."  Shrugging in a cheerful manner, Adam walked along the row of chairs, clearly weighing up the hidden implications of his choice, in spite of Mac's encouraging words.  At last, he picked a seat near the far end and sank down into it, clutching the table edge with his fingers in order to prevent a repetition of yesterday's 'rolling chair' mishap.  Once he was settled, he folded his arms and smiled at his boss.  With the full length of the table between them, Mac could still see the dark smudges beneath his eager blue eyes.</p><p>"I sent you home last night.  Did you go?"</p><p>"Oh, yes."  Adam's face was full of astonishment, as though he could not understand why Mac would doubt his obedience.  "Straight home."  Pausing, he looked down at his crossed arms.  Something was on his mind and Mac found himself wondering what that might be, even as Adam began to speak again.  "But - okay, the thing is...  Can I talk to you?  Before the others..."</p><p>Too late.  Even now, they were piling through the open doorway - Stella, like a breath of morning air; Lindsay, eager to begin the day.  Sheldon, who chose the nearest seat with a quick, friendly nod in his direction.  And Danny Messer, one of the most rewarding risks that Mac had ever taken in his career.  Slipping in behind his colleagues, the young detective caught sight of Adam sitting alone and made a bee-line straight for him, much to his surprise - and Mac's quiet approval.</p><p>"Remember me?" Danny grinned.</p><p>Adam nodded breathlessly.  <em>He's overwhelmed, </em>Mac thought.  This was the deep end alright, and he really hoped his new lab tech was able to swim.</p><p>Looking at his watch, he guessed that Flack had been delayed, so he cleared his throat to gain everyone's attention.  The conference room was smart and comfortable; full of gleaming surfaces and brand new technology.  Ever since the move from their old premises, Mac couldn't help feeling strange, to be discussing such dreadful crimes in a room that could just as easily host a business meeting full of lawyers, say, or bankers.</p><p><em>Crime </em><em>is relative,</em> he reminded himself with a dry smile.  And civilised behaviour was a buffer that protected you from the wildness of humanity's more savage instincts.</p><p>First to brief them all was Lindsay.  Listening as the CSI ran through her findings, Mac chose to watch Adam instead, surreptitiously taking note of his body language.  The young man flushed deeply when Lindsay paused to give him credit for the 'Piper' theory and its bearing on her study of Ruth's stories.  His arms were uncrossed by now and his fingers played with the elastic strap that held his little black notebook together.  His lips never moved, but his eyes spoke volumes.  Here was someone who thrived on praise; not for any self-serving, unhealthy reason, but in the same way that the human body craved sunlight.</p><p>After Lindsay came Stella; late to the investigation but already attacking it with her usual fervour.  Sliding a couple of pictures across the table for all to see, she exchanged a knowing look, first with Mac and then with Lindsay.  The first photograph was of a scowling man with scratches on both cheeks.  "Paul Eggar," Stella said, stabbing his face with her forefinger.  "Ruth's father."  The second showed a bloody item of clothing and, once again, her gesture was full of disgust - not for the picture itself but for the shocking implication.  "Ruth's t-shirt, found in the back of her closet, covered in her blood - and <em>his</em> DNA.  Saliva, to be exact.   He beat her and then he spat on her, Mac."  Stella's eyes were blazing.  "This is Eggar's 'handiwork' alright and I hope he's proud of it because it's the evidence that should put him away and make his family safe at last."</p><p>"Then Paul Eggar is responsible for the disappearance of his daughter?" Sheldon asked, new to the case as well and trying to make sure that he understood every nuance.</p><p>"Indirectly," Mac said.  Stella nodded her agreement.  "Eggar's bullying led Ruth to seek some kind of escape.  Our suspect took advantage of that need."</p><p>"Any sign of abuse beyond the physical violence?"  Sheldon kept his voice low and respectful.</p><p>"No."  The answer burst from Lindsay but the rest of her words were tightly controlled.  "No sign on her bed sheets, at any rate.  Or his.  That doesn't mean it wasn't happening, though...  She left her <em>brother</em>, Mac.  Something scared her enough to go that far."</p><p>Mac considered.  "Stella," he said, "why don't you and Lindsay talk to the mother again?  Without Eggar nearby, she  may be willing to tell us more about her daughter and what really went on in that apartment."</p><p>The two women exchanged glances and, in the end, it was Lindsay, not Stella, who nodded in reply, even as Danny spoke out.  "So then, if Eggar ain't our main guy - which I think we've pretty much established - we're lookin' for... what?  Some kind of magic man who made her disappear?  'Cause last time I checked, figments of the imagination don't drive Hondas or hire ex-cons to clean up their mess."  The flippant speech hid a far more serious question and that was the one Mac answered, recognising his colleague's attempt to lighten the mood a little.</p><p>"We're looking for a man, Danny; pure and simple.  One who identifies with the Pied Piper legend - which tells us several things about him.  Number one: whatever his motivation, he thinks he has a right to behave this way.  Number two:he likes to think he's charismatic - and he's certainly 'enchanting' enough to have lured Ruth away somehow without ever being seen by the people around her.  Number three: he's clever at covering his tracks - but not clever enough, as he left a trail of sorts with Volker, his clean-up guy.  A series of text messages, which Adam here has been studying."</p><p>Every head swivelled towards the young man at the end of the table.  If Mac had been a superstitious man, he would have crossed his fingers on Adam's behalf.</p><p>The lab tech blinked at his audience and clutched his notebook tightly, like a talisman.  When he spoke, however, his voice was high and clear.  Mac relaxed as Adam laid out the facts with growing confidence, bringing out the positive angle to every negative discovery.  Clearly, he had been giving this a lot of thought.</p><p>"So, okay.  Volker had four conversations with Mr. Piper and every one of them was by text.  Piper used a burn phone, which means we can't track him now but if he turns it on again, you know... well, I've set up an automatic trace, so that's hopeful, right?  He told Volker he'd got his number from a mutual friend but Volker's contact list is enormous and so far I haven't been able to make any obvious connections - I'll keep working on that, okay?"  Gazing directly at Mac, Adam shot him a look that said: <em>how am I doing?</em>  Mac gave a nod that was barely perceptible.  "The last set of instructions told Volker how he was going to get paid.  I called the precinct before I went home last night and Detective Flack checked with Volker - that meeting is still on for tomorrow.  I was thinking, you know... it might be another way to intercept him.  If we're clever and if he doesn't know that Volker's already been arrested."</p><p>"Good work, Adam."  Mac's tone betrayed his surprise, but Adam showed only pleasure at the compliment.  "Danny, you and Sheldon can work that angle for now - if you're done with the Brooklyn scene, and the Honda?"</p><p>"Oh, believe me - I'm done," Danny said with feeling.  "CCTV, door to door - no joy from anyone in the neighbourhood and no sign of our girl or her charismatic 'friend'.  It's like they vanished into thin air.  As for the Honda, Slug-guy - sorry, <em>Volker</em> - did a bang-up job.  Not counting his unfortunate lapse with the bottle, of course."</p><p>"Boss... I mean, Mac."  Adam was still staring at him earnestly.  "There's something else I should probably tell you..."</p><p>Mac nodded - but even as he did so, Detective Flack poked his head around the door, causing quite a stir among the occupants of the room, most of whom had not been briefed about his little 'disagreement' with Volker.  His swollen eye was magnificent; deep red and puffy, with a perfect print of his assailant's knuckles just above the socket, leading to the brow ridge.</p><p>"Man..." Danny breathed, awestruck.</p><p>"Sorry I'm late," Don said, ignoring him.  "But I just got a call from Kaile Maka.  She's at a scene in the Upper East Side and it rang a few too many bells for her liking."  He shook his head.  "Mac, I really think you need to come with me, right now."</p><p>"Why?" Mac said, though he knew; oh God, he knew.</p><p>"Looks like the Piper struck again last night."  Don shook his head and Mac could see the frustration in his one good eye.  "Another kid's gone missing on our watch."</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Adam had never run right out of school before.  Nobody saw him leave and when he found himself beyond the gate, he stopped in astonishment, frightened by his own daring.  The air was still and everything was silent.  All the children were inside.  There was no one else in the world right now but him.</p><p>He leaned against the wall, panting sharply.  At any moment, he expected Mrs Roberts to come steaming after him - hoped for it, almost, so that this strange ordeal could have a familiar ending - but time rolled on and there was no sign of her angry face.</p><p>Creeping round the corner, Adam found a shadowy spot and crouched down in the dust to consider his options, which were limited.  He could hear cars passing on the road, oblivious to his presence.  Tears welled up in his eyes but he brushed them away with grimy fingers.  "Baby," he muttered.</p><p>The obvious thing to do, of course, was stand up and walk right back to his classroom.  Maybe, if he was really lucky, they wouldn't even know that he had been outside.  Adam tried to imagine how it would be but the picture in his mind was so vivid that his breath stopped altogether and he clutched at his chest in a panic until it returned.</p><p>"I'll never go back," he said fiercely, hating his teacher at that moment because she had driven him out.</p><p>Home, then?  It was a long way to walk but Momma would be there and, suddenly, Adam longed to feel her arms around him.  He hugged himself and rocked in the shadows, picturing her beautiful smile and dreaming of her voice.  "Oh, honey," she crooned, with her fingers twisting through his hair.  "It's okay..."</p><p>But it wasn't okay.  It was bad; really bad, and Momma wasn't the only person at home today.</p><p>Slowly, Adam rose to his feet and turned to stare at the road ahead.  He pushed his father's face right out of his mind and a curious feeling of peace settled over him, trickling down to his toes like an ice-cold shower.</p><p>Mister Thomas.</p><p>His new friend had said that he could come back any time.  The house was cool and quiet.  No one could touch him there because his new friend wouldn't let them.  "I'll go to Mister Thomas," Adam said, and his breathing was steady.</p><p>High in the sky, the sun peered down with interest as he set off on his journey.  It was almost fun, playing hide and seek with passers-by.  Each time he heard footsteps or an engine in the distance, he would slip out of sight behind a fence or a parked car.  No one saw him - or, if they did, no one cared enough to wonder about a young boy on his own in the middle of the day.  Most people, he guessed, were inside anyway, eating their lunch or getting it ready - and that thought made his stomach growl with hunger.</p><p>"Thomas will feed me," he told himself with child-like certainty.</p><p>The buildings were thinning by now and the road was empty.  Adam paused to dig out a stone that had bounced into his shoe.  Overhead, the sun was no longer friendly but an angry face that burned him with its glare.  The sidewalk was so hot that he began to fear his soles would stick to it if he stood in one place for too long.</p><p>As he struggled with the laces of his sneaker, Adam heard a car pull up nearby, with a squealing of brakes that made his heart flutter.  He didn't need to turn and look when the door slammed shut.  He knew who had found him.  The dream was over before it had really begun, and the nightmare was coming to claim him instead.</p><p>Dark and faceless with the sun behind him, Charles Ross strode towards his son.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>There was a key on the outside of Treasure Matthews' bedroom door.  Mac tried to keep his features straight when he saw it, but he could feel a slow fire kindling in his gut.  Judge Matthews followed his gaze and her eyes tightened.  "Do you have children, Detective?"</p><p>A lazy defence for a woman whose stern reputation preceded her into every courtroom.  When Mac shook his head, she folded her arms like a barrier between them, clearly convinced that she was going to win this opening round.  "Then I hope you don't intend to make false accusations about my own parenting techniques.  Treasure is a teenage girl, which means she's not to be trusted - as this incident has clearly shown.  My method was working, or so I thought until this morning when I found the door wide open."</p><p>The judge used her daughter's fanciful name as though it were an obscenity.  <em>Not your choice,</em> Mac surmised.  "How do you suppose she managed it?"</p><p>"Isn't that for you and your team to work out, <em>Detective</em> Taylor?  After all, I do believe that's why the city continues to pay your salary..."</p><p>"It's an old trick," Kaile Maka put in hastily.  She held up a stiff piece of paper and a sturdy wire.  "One I used myself as a kid.  Pretty sure I found it in a book somewhere.  Of course, it only works if there's a gap beneath the door.  Lock me in," she offered, with a cool edge to her voice that said she, too, was unimpressed by the judge's attitude towards her missing daughter. </p><p>Stepping forwards, Mac complied.  As he shut the bedroom door and turned the key with a very deliberate movement, his eyes never left Judge Matthews' face.  Yet the woman was skilled in the art of concealment and her feelings - if they existed at all - were fiercely guarded and invisible.</p><p>Between the polished wooden tiles and the bottom of the door was a wide gap.  Bending down and looking closely, Mac suspected that it could have been created by Treasure herself.  There were scuff marks from some kind of tool and the base of the door was uneven.  <em>Clever kid, </em>he thought and, for a moment, he could almost feel her presence as a living thing, still there with them; stubborn and unyielding like her mother, but warm too, and full of youthful passion.</p><p>With a scrape and a jiggle, the piece of paper slid through the gap until half of it was on Mac's side.  Behind him, the judge snorted.  "Parlour tricks," she said.  "Pathetic."</p><p>"Effective," Mac corrected her, rising to his feet.  He could hear Kaile working away at the key on the other side until suddenly, with a satisfying <em>thunk</em>, it dropped from the lock and landed on the paper.  The hidden detective retrieved her prize and, before Mac could blink, she was standing in front of them both, a prisoner no longer.</p><p>"Ta-daa," she breathed, with a wink for Mac's eyes only.  "Turns out, Treasure could get out of her room whenever she wanted to - which makes me wonder if this was the only time she did it.  What do <em>you</em> think, Your Honour?"</p><p>Judge Matthews' only response was to turn on her heel and march away down the corridor.  Her back was rigid and her head was high.</p><p>"Something I said?"  Kaile's smile was unrepentant.  Mac knew that he should be shocked at her attitude but he could not bring himself to reprimand her.  Waving her arm, she ushered him in.  "After you, Detective Taylor?  I think the air's a little warmer in there.  You look chilled to the bone."</p><p>And he was, though not from any drop in temperature.  At first, Mac had secretly questioned Kaile's theory that this case was linked to Ruth Eggar's disappearance.  Now he felt it, just as she had done - and as he stepped into the bedroom, he felt a lurch in his gut that banished every last shred of doubt.</p><p>The room was almost clinically bare, with nothing homely in it apart from a bed, a desk and chair, a bookshelf, a closet and a bedside table.  There were no pictures on the walls and no stuffed animals on the bed.  None of the usual teenage clutter was in evidence, and there was not even a rug on the hard wooden floor.  Above the desk, however, was a pinboard that claimed Mac's attention and <em>there</em>, tucked in between a study timetable and a chart of chemical elements, was a drawing, no doubt penned by Treasure herself.</p><p>The Pied Piper.</p><p>This was Treasure's own interpretation, heavily influenced by the Manga style that many young people seemed to favour, yet the intelligence behind his expression was clear as his pale eyes stared out from the paper, challenging Mac to find him.</p><p>Mac stared at the cunning little sketch and, all of a sudden, he found himself wishing that he had paused for just one moment to learn exactly what it was that Adam Ross wanted to tell him, right before he rushed out of the lab.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Down in the lobby, Don Flack was experiencing a far more emotional response from his witness than the judge had displayed in front of Mac and Kaile.  Oliver Raines had been in the security business for over thirty years and he took his job very seriously indeed.  The disappearance of Treasure Matthews was like a physical blow to him and Flack could see the deep hurt in his eyes as he mopped his brow with a sharply-pressed handkerchief.</p><p>"She never went through the front door," he insisted, with such vehemence that Flack couldn't help wondering which, of the two of them, he was trying to convince.  "And I never left my post.  I swear it, Detective - on my life, I do.  That girl's a friend o' mine, and that mother of hers - well, I don't mind telling you right now, she scares the bejesus outta me.  I wouldn't ever want to get on her wrong side, believe you me!"</p><p>"Oh, I believe you," Flack said with feeling.  He had encountered Judge Matthews before, several times, and he wasn't a fan.  "So then, if what you're telling me is true, I see only two options.  Number one: Treasure Matthews has a secret identity and she's really the Invisible Girl - unlikely - or, number two: there's another way out of this building and she used it.  Any thoughts?"</p><p>Oliver screwed up his face so tightly that Flack began to fear his eyes, like the girl, would disappear entirely.  "Fire escape, maybe?  Or the service entrance - Oakland used to be a big old house, you know, back in the day, and some of the classic features were left in when they redesigned it as an apartment block.  Dumb waiter, bell system - it's all for show, but the door is a real door."</p><p>"Locked?"</p><p>"Oh, yes."  Oliver seemed quite affronted by the question but Flack was persistent.</p><p>"You sure?"</p><p>"I... yes!"  The man began to waver, letting doubt creep in and taint his certainty.  "That is, I checked it a couple of days ago...  It's so old, you see, and no one ever uses it...  Oh, God.  Did I screw up?"  He wrung his hands together and his shoulders drooped, turning him into an old man before Flack's one good eye.</p><p>"Mr. Raines, get a grip.  No one here is accusing you, okay?  We just want to know what you know.  After all, it was you who called us."</p><p>"I did," the man said, with pitiful eagerness.  "I saw her outside and I <em>knew</em>.  That mother of hers would never let her out so late - never let her out at all, as a matter of fact.  Poor girl was a virtual prisoner in her own home..."</p><p>"Mr. Raines."  Flack spoke firmly, but with compassion.  He had no doubt that Oliver Raines was a good friend to the missing teenager, just as he had claimed.  "Gimme the facts.  What exactly did you see?"</p><p>Oliver nodded.  "You're right.  You're right; I'm sorry.  What use am I if I can't even make a report?  I used to be a soldier; you know that?  Served my country and did her proud, I like to think..."</p><p>"Mr. Raines," Flack repeated softly, catching his eye.</p><p>The old doorman faltered and stared at him, falling into silence for a moment.  When he spoke again, his voice was quite different; steady and full of conviction.  Flack listened, jotting down notes in his book.</p><p>"It was two in the morning.  I know, 'cause I always check the cameras on the hour, regular as clockwork.  Like I told that lady detective, there was a car outside, parked halfway in the shadows so I couldn't see its plate.  Next thing I knew, there was Treasure, coming out of nowhere.  She walked up to the driver's side window and peered through.  Felt like I was seeing things till another car drove by and the light caught her face.  It was Treasure alright, clear as anything; I'd swear to that in court.  She seemed pretty serious, too, like she wasn't sure about something.  One moment, she turned back - and the way the camera caught her, she could have been staring at <em>me.</em>  I froze, Detective.  Hand to God, I couldn't move a muscle.  Next moment, she was in the car and gone, just like that."  He shrugged, but Flack could see the stiffness in his action, and hear the guilt behind his words.  <em>I wasn't quick enough.  I should have known.  I should have stopped her...</em></p><p>"Can I get a copy of the footage?" he said, breaking the spell.  Oliver's eyes snapped back into focus.  Finally, here was something he could be proud of.</p><p>"Already done.  That lady detective - she asked me too.  When she saw that car drive away...  Well, I won't repeat her first words, but that's when I heard her call you.  There's another kid gone missing?"</p><p>"I'm sorry," Flack said, making a mental note to speak with Kaile about her lapse.  Gossip and rumours - they could spread like wildfire and cause untold damage in a case like this.  "I can't discuss any details with you; I'm sure you understand that.  But I'm grateful for your help, Mr. Raines.  And look - this isn't your fault, okay?  You've done nothing wrong."</p><p>"Good of you to say so, Detective Flack," the poor man sighed.  "I'll have to try and remember that when the judge comes down here to fire me..."</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona,1985</strong>
</p><p>"So you think running away is the answer when life doesn't meet your childish expectations?"</p><p>Adam knew there was only one answer to a question like that.  He may not have understood every word, but the implication was obvious.  "No, Daddy," he replied, rubbing his arm, which still felt the ghost of an iron hand around it.</p><p>"No, Daddy," his father mimicked, shifting his eyes away from the road for a moment to glare at his son.  Adam frowned in bewilderment.  Had he made a mistake after all?  Was the answer wrong?</p><p>"I mean 'yes'...?" he ventured warily.</p><p>"My son is a fool."  Daddy shook his head and pressed his foot down on the pedal, making the car lurch forwards as its speed increased.  The sensation was frightening, almost as though the Chevy itself was channelling Daddy's frustration.</p><p><em>You're going too fast,</em> Adam wanted to say, but the warning never made it past his lips.  He swallowed thickly.  "I need a d-drink.  It's so hot in here.  Please, Daddy, can we stop?"  His sweaty clothes were sticking to the fake leather seat by now, while the musky smell of the air freshener dangling from the rear view mirror made him feel sick to his stomach.</p><p>"Yes, it's all about you, isn't it?"  Daddy's voice always sounded tight when he was holding back his temper.  Sometimes, his anger was hot and fierce.  That was the dangerous time, when you had to beware and keep out of his reach.  Adam knew that would come later but, right now, Daddy was in control and for one good reason.  They were driving back to school, and not for the world would Charles Ross show his true self to anyone outside his family.  Adam had seen him many times, laughing and joking with his work colleagues, or his neighbours, and it made him wonder.  How could someone be two different people?  How could a good man be a monster?</p><p>"Do you know what I was doing when your principal called me?" Daddy continued, breaking into Adam's train of thought.  "Your mother and I had just sat down to a meal that took her all morning to prepare, while you were at school having fun with your little friends.  Now it's cold and everything is wasted.  You say you're thirsty?  Good!  Let that teach you a lesson you seem unwilling to learn.  It's time you started putting other people first, boy."</p><p>"Yes, Daddy," Adam said breathlessly.  Inside, his mind was reeling.  Daddy was bigger than him, and knew so much about the world.  Was he telling the truth?  <em>I'm selfish,</em> the boy thought with horror and, for the rest of the journey, he pressed his lips together and kept silent.  When the car drew up outside the school gates, he looked at his father with wide eyes and finally plucked up the courage to ask the question that was burning a hole in his tongue.  "What'll they do to me?"</p><p>Daddy chose not to answer.  Ignoring Adam altogether, he got out of the car and marched up to the main door, trusting that his son would follow him.  Adam's legs were wobbly and he half-ran, half-hopped in his father's shadow, torn between the urge to run away again and the desperate need to fix things, if he could.  "Wait, Daddy, please," he begged.  His father's presence was small comfort indeed, but he would rather have that comfort than be facing this alone.  Adam reached out to grab the man's hand; a child's instinct and a hopeless one - yet, to his great surprise, Daddy's fingers curled around his own.</p><p>The door opened.</p><p>"Mr. Ross," a voice said, full of relief.  "You found him.  Oh, well done, sir!"</p><p>"And you let him go," Daddy said, but it wasn't his angry face that Adam saw staring back at the principal, Mrs Tolmie.  This was a different face; solemn and sad.  Adam was so transfixed by his father's performance that he forgot to be scared.  "How is it that children can come and go as they please here?  I thought school was meant to be safe."</p><p>"Believe me," Mrs Tolmie assured him, clasping her hands together, "this is an isolated incident.  Nothing like this has ever happened before - and I can promise it won't happen again."  She stared down at Adam, the boy who had caused her so much trouble.  Daddy nudged him forwards, abandoning his tight grip.</p><p>Adam opened his mouth.  For a moment, he thought that his voice would desert him, just as it always seemed to do when he needed it the most.  Yet when he looked up into Mrs Tolmie's eyes, they were kind, and he knew that she would believe him when he spoke the words.  "I'm s-sorry."</p><p>"I should hope so," she said quietly, without malice.  Her simple understanding made his heart ache, like a blow to the chest.  "Whatever made you run like that, Adam?  Was someone bullying you?  Were you frightened?"</p><p>Mrs Roberts hadn't told her, then.  Adam didn't know what to say.  He hated his teacher - but if he chose to get her into trouble, he really would be a selfish boy, putting himself first instead of caring about her feelings.  And that would mean Daddy was right.</p><p>Stepping past him, Daddy bent close to Mrs Tolmie, pretending to be discreet, though Adam could hear every single thing he said.  "The boy's sensitive.  You understand.  We're trying to help him, but..."  The pause was deliberate, a play for sympathy.  "He struggles in class - I'm sure his teacher's told you?  Today was just too hard and he tried to run home."  Daddy's face was sorrowful as he turned back to his son.  "Adam - tell her you're not going to do that again.  You gave us a real fright."</p><p>Liar!  Adam burned with indignation at the falseness of it all - but as he watched pity swallow up Mrs Tolmie's kind expression, he began to think, and his thoughts were ugly.</p><p>Sensitive.  <em>That isn't a lie,</em> he told himself bitterly.  And he did struggle in class, though not for the reason his father implied.  Were his parents trying to help him?  Daddy tried to make him strong and Momma tried to help him bear it.  Was today hard?  Yes, it was - but as for running home...</p><p>"I'll never," Adam swore.  "Not ever."  Not run home, anyway.  It wasn't a full promise; he was sure of that.</p><p>Which meant that he was free to break it, if he had to.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Adam was starting to wish he had paid more attention to Mac Taylor's words of advice yesterday.  What was the point of going home on time, as instructed, if he chose to work through the night when he got there?  It had been well past three in the morning when he finally dropped into - no, make that <em>onto</em> his bed, fully clothed and yawning so badly he almost cracked his jaw.  He had slept like a dead man until the alarm resurrected him at six o' clock, but now he was feeling the lack of a good night's rest.  Concentration was becoming a major problem, and he was growing more irritable by the second, thanks in no small part to Danny Messer and Doctor Hawkes, who were having a vigorous discussion behind him, in tones that carried well beyond their own workstation.</p><p><em>Could</em> a newbie tell two CSIs to keep it down?</p><p>Unwilling to break lab protocol on his second day, however tempting the impulse might be, Adam resorted to a series of petulant sighs, each one louder than the last.  He hoped this would be enough to convey his feelings but his strategy failed to take into account the annoying fact that both men were far too involved in their 'conversation' to notice - which, of course, did nothing at all to soothe his ruffled nerves. </p><p>He hunched down over the keyboard and tried to concentrate on his own work - Volker's interminably long list of contacts, all of whom needed checking in case they provided a link to the Piper - but his brain had other ideas.  Like a ghost, the image of his cat-boy, Boo, had been burned onto his retinas by over-exposure.  <em>Okay,</em> Adam conceded, <em>maybe that theory's a bit too extreme </em>- but it did feel as though, every time he blinked or closed his eyes, the wistful little character was there before him, striding through the cartoon-bright world of Aurora.  The last time Adam had encountered this particular phenomenon was directly after the release of Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness, when he had been haunted for days by the not-quite-so-unwelcome figure of Lara Croft...</p><p>"Addict," he scolded himself.</p><p>"Say what?"</p><p>Adam jumped and grabbed for the edge of the desk, just in time to stop his chair from sailing away.  He was learning.  Apparently, this was the kind of place where people were going to creep up behind him on a regular basis.</p><p>"That man," he lied hastily, pointing to an image on the screen.  "Drug addict.  Very sad."</p><p>"Okay..."  Danny Messer folded his arms and gave him a penetrating look.  "Having fun?"</p><p>"Big fun."  Adam stared back, trying to match Danny's bold demeanour.  "You?"</p><p>Danny grinned as Hawkes appeared beside him.  "Oh, yeah.  Want to help settle a difference of opinion before Mac gets back from the crime scene?"</p><p>"Um... no?" Adam ventured, smiling to let them see that he was joking... well, almost joking.  He knew the subject of their argument - the best way to follow the money trail back to the Piper - and he knew what his own solution would be, but he also knew that it really wasn't <em>his</em> place to advise them.</p><p>"Too late," Hawkes informed Adam drily.  "There's no stopping him now, I'm afraid."</p><p>"Hehehe."  Danny's chuckle was a curious thing, steady and controlled, with a hint of self-deprecation.</p><p>Adam spun round in his chair and gave the two men his full attention.  "Okay.  Let's play."  He pointed to Doctor Hawkes.  "Contestant number one."</p><p>Hawkes bowed.  At the same time, he shot Danny a look that was openly smug.  "<em>Thank</em> you, Adam."</p><p>"Just bidin' my time," Danny muttered.</p><p>Unaccustomed as he was to their style of communication, Adam hoped that the sniping was good-humoured.  He certainly didn't relish the idea of a full-scale battle between the two of them in the middle of the AV lab - and he thought he could detect a twinkle in Hawkes' eye as the doctor continued.</p><p>"You've read the Piper's messages.  Our man Volker is an ex-con with no great love of institutions, and we're not just talking prison here.  He doesn't put much faith - or money - in the banking system either.  He's more of an under-the-mattress kind of guy.  Which means cash payment only, and the Piper agreed.  The deal is set for tomorrow, at the Alice in Wonderland statue on the East Side of Central Park.  I'm saying, we use Volker, let the exchange take place under strict surveillance, and follow the guy who makes the drop.  Piper or not, he's a link in the chain."</p><p>"Okay..."  Adam turned to Danny.  "Contestant number two?"</p><p>Danny shrugged.  "Same plan.  But we use me instead of Volker.  He ain't one for playin' by the rules - you saw Flack's eye, right?  Turns out, Volker did that when they tried to arrest him.  I take the money, and when the deal's gone down, we take the guy as well.  Two kids are missin', Hawkes.  We don't got time for dancin' round the edge of this."</p><p>"Two kids are missing," Hawkes agreed, "and anything we do could spook the Piper.  We don't know his motives and we don't know how unstable he is.  We also don't know if he's familiar with Volker's appearance.  One false move could tip him over the edge.  Let him see what he expects to see."</p><p>"And if he knows that we took Volker yesterday?"</p><p>"Then neither plan will work because no one will show at the statue."</p><p>Twisting his mouth in a thoughtful expression, Danny turned back to Adam.  Hawkes followed suit.</p><p>Adam cleared his throat as a way to stall for time while he considered his options.  Danny had been kind to him - made him feel welcome - but Hawkes was the one who made sense.  "Here's the thing," he said at last.  "This case - it's not just about some random bad guy.  It's about the children, just like you said.  And, you know... if we did <em>anything</em>..."  Falling silent for a moment, he tried to find the right words.  "We can't put them in any more danger.  Doctor Hawkes has the right plan.  <em>I </em>think.  You know, 'cause you asked my opinion..."  Lowering his head, he tried not to look at Danny, but the detective only groaned in mock defeat.</p><p>"Okay.  You got me, two to one.  My own fault, I guess.  Give the man a high five, Doctor Hawkes.  We're playin' it your way."</p><p>"Which I never doubted for a second," Hawkes said smoothly, raising his hand for Adam to smack.  At the same time, there was a sharp tap on the glass behind them.  All three men snapped their heads round, startled by the sudden noise.</p><p><em>Not just me, then,</em> Adam thought with some relief.  On the other side of the window, Mac Taylor beckoned to him with a curling finger.  "I gotta go," he blurted out, striking at the keyboard to save his work and close it before he leapt to his feet and dashed from the lab.  He was hyper-aware of the two pairs of eyes that followed him in amusement as he left.</p><p>Mac wasn't one to waste words.  "We need to talk," he said.</p><p>"Yes, sir." Adam breathed a sigh of relief.  <em>At last...</em></p><p>Feeling rather like a dog at his master's heels, he followed Mac across the corridor.  Ironic, he thought as he studied their destination, that such a self-contained man had been cursed with such a public office.  All that glass - so intimidating, and nowhere to hide when you needed a moment to yourself.  Had Mac designed the room, or had it been foisted upon him?  Were the windows a way to look out, or look in?</p><p>"Adam."</p><p>"Oh!"  <em>I've been staring, </em>he realised, shutting his mouth with a snap.  What a fool.  "Sorry.  Nice office."</p><p>"Thank you," Mac said quietly.  Did he mean it?  Adam could not read the man at all.  "Take a seat," his boss continued.</p><p>Dutifully, Adam perched on the edge of the chair directly in front of Mac's big glass desk.  <em>Glass again.</em>  With caution, he peered at the walls, admiring the flags, the photographs...  "You were a marine," he blurted out, before he could stop himself.  Mac focussed on him sharply and he flushed.  "Sorry - none of my business.  I was just..."</p><p>"You were being observant.  Nothing wrong with that."  Mac followed Adam's gaze.  "Yes, Adam, I was a marine.  Some might say I still am."</p><p>"Is that why this place is so tidy?"  Once more, Adam wished he could just clap a hand across his unfortunate mouth.  "I like tidy," he explained.  Mac's face was starting to look a little weary by now, so he continued hastily.  "But you didn't bring me in here to chat, right?  You want to talk about the case.  Was it...?"  He narrowed his eyes, a nervous habit.  "Was it the Piper again?  Last night, I mean?  The girl who went missing..."</p><p>"Treasure Matthews."  Mac nodded.  "Yes, it was.  At least, the evidence supports it."</p><p>"That's bad."  Adam shook his head.  "Then he really <em>is</em> like the Pied Piper in the legend.  He's not just taking one kid.  He's taking..."  <em>All of them.  </em>The thought was terrible and Adam knew that the moment had finally come to explain his reckless deed.  "Mac, I think I might have found the link.  You know, the way he talks to them.  Only... I did something, okay; something stupid - well, no, it seemed like a good idea at the time - but I really, really need to explain before..."</p><p><em>...Before your precious job is snatched away from you.</em>  Sometimes, Adam's conscience was like a separate voice inside his head, mocking him with unreasonable harshness.  He pushed it away and concentrated on the words he needed to say to his boss, who was waiting silently.</p><p>"I played the game," he confessed.</p><p>"You played the game."  Clearly, Mac was expecting more; his echo a simple request that Adam should continue.</p><p>"Last night.  I went home, Mac, just like I told you, but I couldn't stop thinking about Ruth Eggar and I thought..."  He shrugged.  "I thought I could help.  So I downloaded the game - 'The Gates of Dawn'."</p><p>"The..."  Mac began to speak and then broke off, frowning as though the shadow of a memory had brushed his mind.  Adam held his breath eagerly but the Boss Man shook his head.  "Sorry.  Go on."</p><p>"Okay..."  Waiting another second or two, just to be sure, Adam nodded and resumed his tale.  "I wanted to find out if anyone knew Ruth, but I didn't want them to peg me as a spy, so I made up this character - as close to hers as I could get it - and I went exploring."  A shy grin escaped his lips.  "It was kind of fun, you know?  I mean, I get why kids like Ruth would want to lose themselves in a world like that.  You can win all your battles, if you try hard enough, and when you meet other people in Aurora, no one ever has to know who you really are..."</p><p>"You can talk to other people?"</p><p>"And team up for quests.  There's this bulletin board on the Trade Bridge...  See, the game isn't linear.  You can pretty much go wherever you want, and quests are the way to build up your character...  I'm boring you, aren't I?"  This time, the grin was wider.  "I've seen that glazed look before... I mean, sorry, Boss.  I didn't mean to imply you were zoning out on me."</p><p>"I'm concentrating, Adam," Mac said sternly, but the twinkle in his eye was a welcome sign that said <em>continue</em>.</p><p>"Okay.  Here's the thing..."  Adam clasped his hands together and leaned forwards, letting the coolness of Mac's desk ground him as he reached the awkward part of his story.  "I played the game for hours and teamed up with all kinds of people, exploring the world and trying to pick up information about Fizzle - that's Ruth.  I didn't think anything of it, you know - until suddenly, one girl pulled out of our team because she said she had to go to bed.  Her mom was yelling her from downstairs.  It was a school night..."  He swallowed.  "That was when it hit me.  They're all children.  Every single one of them.  And..."  Flushing, he dropped his eyes in shame.  "They think I am too, Mac.  I felt terrible.  Like some kind of pervert... but I never meant..."  He pleaded with his boss to understand the innocence of his mistake.</p><p>"So you pulled out?" was all Mac said.</p><p>Adam's voice, when he continued, was almost a whisper.  "No."</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"No.  I was going to, right, of course I was - but that was when it happened.  One of the kids mentioned a quest that they had all been on together, about six months ago.  There had been another member of their team, he said - a healer, like me - but she didn't hang around with them anymore.  Not since they went to Pan's Temple."  He knew that Mac wouldn't fail to catch the emphasis he placed upon the name.</p><p>"And that girl...?"</p><p>"Was Ruth."  Finally, Adam found the strength to look up.  "Boss - am I in trouble?"</p><p>Mac didn't answer him straight away.  Adam tried to bear the searching gaze, clenching his hands together and biting his lip so hard that he almost drew blood.  "No," the detective said at last.  "Not with me.  You made an error in judgement but your instinct was the right one.  I'm the one who pulled you away from the game yesterday.  You followed your gut, and you're on the right track.  But listen to me, Adam, and listen very carefully.  This world - the <em>real</em> world - has little tolerance for adults who overstep the mark when it comes to dealing with children, no matter <em>how</em> innocent the circumstances.  Appearance is everything these days.  I'm not saying that's right.  I'm saying that's the way it is, and we have to act accordingly.  Here, we deal in evidence and facts, and our work <em>has</em> to be unimpeachable.  You've found a valuable lead; I won't deny that.  And I want you to follow it up - but from now on, you play this game at the lab.  No exceptions, or there <em>will</em> be trouble.  Document every step, and keep someone with you at all times when you're online."</p><p>"I... are you sure?"</p><p>Mac nodded slowly.  "Can you do it?"</p><p>"Of course!  I mean, yes.  I know I can.  And I'll do exactly as you say, Boss, I promise.  No more solo adventures."  Adam gave a tentative smile.  "So then... you want me to go to the Temple next?  And find out what happened to Ruth?"</p><p>"The Temple of Pan, the piper from Greek mythology?  Oh yes," Mac said grimly.  "I also want you to find out more about this game, 'The Gates of Dawn'.  Who designed it, who runs it... all the information you can gather.  The whole thing seems a little too coincidental for my liking."</p><p>"On it, Boss," Adam assured him, rising to his feet.  "Anything else?"</p><p>"Yes."  Mac's face was carefully blank as he spoke, but he could not hide the sadness that lurked behind his eyes.  "One more thing.  I have another laptop, from this morning's scene.  I think you should be the one to take a look at it."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Adam ate his lunch with Mrs Tolmie in her office, while she wore her 'pity' face and smiled at him.  He filled his mouth with food so he didn't have to talk.  Afterwards, she took him back to class.  When he walked through the doorway with the principal by his side, the children stared at him in silence.  Mrs Roberts had a look on her face that he didn't understand at all, but she didn't shout at him for running away and there was no anger in her voice when she asked him to sit down.  She gave the principal a sly glance but, when nothing more was said, she seemed to give a little sigh of relief and her shoulders relaxed into their usual curved position.</p><p>Settling down at the back of the class, Adam marvelled at how easily things were going back to normal.  <em>I fell asleep,</em> he told himself, <em>and I dreamed the whole thing.  It's an ordinary day...</em></p><p>But the strange look was still there on Mrs Roberts' face and she never asked him a question or made eye contact with him.  To all intents and purposes, he was invisible.  Julie nudged him every now and then, to make sure that he was okay, but Adam ignored her in turn.  It was easier that way.</p><p>As the last lesson drew to a close and Mrs Roberts shut her story book with a snap, Adam's heart gave a horrible lurch.  Being back in school on a lazy Friday afternoon had lulled him into a false sense of security.  Outside, the Real World was waiting for him.</p><p>Time to pay for what he had done.</p><p>The bus ride home was rowdy.  Adam felt like a tiny bird in the middle of a storm as the noise railed around him.  He could hear his name being thrown about, but nobody spoke to him in person.  For once, his big brother had come to sit beside him.  Charlie glared at anyone who dared to open their mouth or even breathe Adam's way.  "Thank you," Adam whispered as they stepped down onto the dusty road and the bus crawled on - but Charlie glared at him too and stalked off alone.</p><p>"Talk about dumb," was all he said, over his shoulder.</p><p>Adam cast a subtle, yearning glance in the direction of his new friend's house, but there was no face at the window and no music floating on the air.  Everything was silent.  Letting the last hopeful spark die out inside him, Adam turned his back on the place and trudged away.  Head down, he concentrated on the cracks in the sidewalk, hopping over them and hissing when he almost stumbled.  He didn't need any more bad luck.  When he looked up, his brother was a black shadow in the distance.  By the time Adam reached the house, Charlie was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>The front door stood open as usual.  He stared at it, trembling.  "Momma," he whispered.  Like a magic spell, the word gave him courage.  He entered the house and closed the door behind him carefully - 'click' instead of 'bang'.</p><p>"You took your sweet time," said a voice behind him.  "Charlie made it home ten minutes ago."</p><p>"His legs are longer than mine," Adam said, getting the words out before he had to turn and look at the face that would render him mute.</p><p>With a rush of air, the man came closer, spinning Adam round.  His skin was flushed and he panted through his open mouth, like a dragon about to breathe fire.  Daddy's fire was made up of bad words that hurt Adam's head and his eyes were all that Adam could see as they pinned him to the spot, just like the rigid fingers around his arm.</p><p>"Are you being smart with me?"</p><p>Daddy grasped his other arm as well and shook him, hard.  Adam's head felt heavy as it rolled about.  He couldn't keep it straight, no matter what he did.  His teeth banged together in his mouth, but his tongue had slipped between them and he bit it without meaning to.  The pain made him howl like the dog next door.  Daddy threw him down.  "Stop that noise," he ordered.</p><p>"S-s..."  Adam tried to apologise, but the word was broken beyond repair.  Blood trickled from his open mouth and ran down his chin as he reached for another one.  "M-m...  Mo..."</p><p>"You want your mother?"  Daddy's tone was bleak.  "Call her if you like.  She's not going to hear you."</p><p>Adam froze in terror.  He couldn't bear to look at Daddy's face looming over him so he stared at the big brown shoes instead and pleaded with them silently: <em>where is she?  What did he do?</em></p><p>"Your precious 'Momma' has left again," Daddy spat, as though the phrase tasted sour.  "And it's all your fault."</p><p>"M-m...?"  Adam rose to his knees and clung to Daddy's leg in supplication.</p><p>"Of, for God's sake, speak up properly, you stupid little baby.  Always whimpering and whining.  No one will bother to listen to you if you don't learn to speak like a normal human being."  Daddy shook him off and he fell backwards, stumbling against the front door.  His head struck the wood and, for a few seconds, he saw the golden motes dancing around him again.  They made him feel dizzy and reckless.</p><p>With all the willpower he possessed, Adam managed to form a sentence and push it out into the air between them.  "W-why is it my fault?"</p><p>Daddy bent down and leaned in.  Adam could smell his aftershave, and the sharp tang of sweat.  The scent became a taste and crept into his mouth, mixing with the blood.  It made him gag, as though even the contents of his stomach wanted to flee.  An expression of pure disgust settled on Daddy's face and he moved even closer, filling Adam's world once more with his eyes, and his anger.</p><p>"You think I'm the one to blame?  Was I the one who ran away from school and shamed us all?  I don't think so!  Your mother blamed me too, and now she's gone - run away, just like you.  I guess the rotten apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  But I'm gonna set that straight.  You're my son, God help me, and I'll teach you how to be a man if it's the last thing I do."</p><p>He reached out and grabbed the front of Adam's t-shirt, hoisting him up as he rose to his feet.  "Come with me."</p><p>A cold fog began to invade Adam's brain.  He couldn't think and he couldn't speak.  All he could do was stumble after Daddy, trying to breathe through the tight folds of cloth at his throat and the hard fist that held them there, like a knot.  The pounding of his heart had spread throughout his whole body and now it was trying to escape through his ears.  Above the hissing, he could hear a single word, over and over - the only thought left in his head.</p><p>Trapped.</p><p>He was trapped here with Daddy, and Momma had gone.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>"I like this place," Lindsay said in a low voice.</p><p>Stella nodded.  No need to say any more.  They both felt it; the warm vibe that flowed through the whole building, pulling them in with invisible arms, like a hug.</p><p>Some secrets were good.  St. Elizabeth's Refuge was one of the best kept secrets in Brooklyn; a haven for victims of domestic abuse, disguised as an ordinary brownstone.  The interior was shabby but clean, and the smile that welcomed them was bright, as a tiny apple-cheeked woman studied their credentials, nodded calmly and led them to a small communal room beyond the lobby.  Stella could see the shadow of a seated figure through the dimpled glass.</p><p>"Not quite there yet, poor soul," the warden whispered, before letting them in.  "She's safe now, and she knows it, I think, but she's so worried about her daughter.  Do you have good news?"</p><p>"I'm afraid not," Stella was forced to say.</p><p>"Then please be gentle."  Opening the door, the warden spoke out clearly.  "Lauren - visitors for you.  I'll bring tea, shall I?  Unless you'd like me to stay...?"  Her words gave Lauren the power of choice, but the direction of her gaze showed that the offer was also being made to Stella, who shook her head with a tiny negative motion.</p><p>"Who is it?" said a listless voice.</p><p>"Police detectives, honey.  You've met one of them before, apparently."  The warden ushered Lindsay through the open doorway and Stella saw Lauren's eyes widen, ever so slightly.</p><p>"Ruth?  You have Ruth?" the poor woman cried, rising from her chair.</p><p>"I'm so sorry..." Lindsay faltered, glancing at Stella, before resuming with more strength in her voice.  "Not yet, Lauren.  But we're making progress.  How are you doing?  How's Jason?"</p><p>Lauren sank back into the armchair.  She was pale and thin, and did not seem at ease with her surroundings.  "Jason..."</p><p>"I'm here," the little boy said.  His high voice made them jump.</p><p>"And as good as gold," the warden smiled, moving past them to the far corner of the room where he was digging through a box full of mismatched toys.  "You want a juice, sweetie?"</p><p>"No thank you, Greta."  He held up a figure with one leg missing.  "Spiderman's broken."</p><p>"I know.  I'm sorry."</p><p>"It's okay.  He c'n still fly."  A look of absolute conviction filled Jason's eyes and he began to move his hero this way and that through the air, making a gentle whooshing sound as he did so.  "He's got webs."</p><p>"So he has," Greta said fondly.  "Tea it is, then.  For the three of you?" she continued in a brisk voice, not waiting for the reply before she padded from the room with one last meaningful glance in Stella's direction.  <em>Be careful.</em></p><p>Far from taking offence at the warden's proprietary manner, Stella felt a sense of relief that Lauren and Jason had someone like Greta watching over them.</p><p>There were several seats in the room.  Studying the arrangement, Stella opted for one that was neither too distant from Lauren, nor too familiar.  Watching Lindsay go through the same mental process, she was interested to see that her new colleague chose the seat nearest to Jason - a spot where she could watch him far more closely than his mother.  It was a good decision, Stella thought.  The boy was young, but that didn't make him deaf and blind to the things that were going on around him.  Who knew what horrors he had overheard, or what secrets were locked up behind those wide eyes?</p><p>Satisfied that she could trust Lindsay to follow her own instincts, Stella turned her full attention to the mother.  "Lauren, my name is Stella Bonasera.  I'm a detective with the crime lab - and I promise you, we're doing everything we can to find your daughter.  As my colleague said, we're making progress but your help would be invaluable.  No one else knows her like you do, I'm sure.  If you could just let me have a few moments of your time..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p><em>Children are resilient.</em>  The observation struck Lindsay as she watched the young boy play with his 'new' toy; one-legged Spiderman, broken yet appealing, a hero that he could control.  Jason seemed far more placid today, though she knew from experience that a cool exterior could hide the worst kind of pain imaginable.</p><p>Keeping one ear tuned to Stella's probing conversation with Lauren Eggar, Lindsay focussed the rest of her attention on Jason's response.  Safe in his own world, he didn't appear to be listening - <em>but you don't fool me,</em> she thought with certainty.  Every now and then, his eyes flicked sideways and he froze in the middle of his imaginary game.  Five years old he may have been, but he wanted to <em>know</em>, and that was a motive she understood.</p><p>Stella's interview technique was classic and effective - first put the subject at her ease, then couch any urgent questions in simple, non-threatening terms.  With her hands resting calmly in her lap and an open countenance, she encouraged Lauren to talk about her daughter by leading her down a blind alley, filled with happy thoughts - Ruth's character; her ambitions in life; her love for her brother; her great success at school.  At the end of the alley was a trap, but Stella sprung it with as much delicacy as she could muster.</p><p>"were there any particular... changes in Ruth's life?  Something that might have upset her?  Something out of the ordinary?"</p><p>Lindsay couldn't help noticing that, so far, Paul Eggar was completely absent from the whole conversation - as though Stella knew that the very mention of his name would frighten his wife into silence.</p><p>As it was, Lauren's eagerness to help this kind and sympathetic stranger was almost feverish in its intensity.  Her face was white, with two red patches high on her cheeks, but her eyes were truthful as she replied.  "I guess...  I don't know.  It could be - but I don't see how.  I found out five days ago, Detective.  I'm pregnant again."</p><p>"Oh!  I see..."</p><p>Both women paused and Lindsay turned her head to study the tableau.  She could tell that Jason was watching too, all pretence forgotten.  Did he know the meaning of his mother's confession?  What <em>were </em>the implications behind such a loaded remark, within their shattered family dynamic?  Lindsay thought back to her examination of the bed-sheets, which had yielded nothing.  Did Ruth believe - or know for a fact - that things were about to get worse?  Could Lauren's pregnancy have been the catalyst that drove her daughter from the house that was no home, straight into the clutches of the wolf who was waiting outside?  Or was this unborn child just an innocent detail in Ruth's story?</p><p>Was there no one at all, apart from the Piper, in whom she had confided?  No way to discover the truth but riddles and fiction?</p><p>"Did Ruth...?  I'm sorry, pardon me for interrupting.  Did Ruth have <em>any</em> friends outside of school?" LIndsay asked.  "A girl called Treasure, maybe...?"</p><p>"No," Lauren whispered, a slow tear running down her pale cheek.  "Treasure?  No, I'd remember a pretty name like that.  Ruth had no one.  She liked to be alone.  I'm sorry."</p><p>"Yes," said Spiderman, in a voice that sounded just like Jason.  "She had Elfie."</p><p>This time, it was Stella who turned her head - and Lauren too.  Lindsay slipped from her chair and sank down onto her knees in front of the child, who held his toy before him like a ward against the real world.  "Can you tell me...?" she said, directing her words to the plastic hero.  She was achingly aware of Jason but she did not dare to look at him, in case she broke the spell.  "Who's Elfie?"</p><p>"Roo's friend, of course."  Spiderman sounded quite surprised at her ignorance.  "They talk every day.  She's funny."</p><p>"Have you met her?" Lindsay said eagerly.  "What does she look like?"</p><p>Spiderman dropped to the floor and now, at long last, it was Jason who spoke to her, eager to please as he clutched Lindsay's hand and stared up at her face.  "She's very pretty.  I like her eyes - they're big an' green.  Roo says she's her best friend, 'cept of me.  I'm her best-of-all."</p><p><em>And yet she left you.  </em>Lindsay sighed, but did not say the hurtful words.  "Of course you are, Jason."</p><p>"Elfie's brave.  Roo told me that's the mostest thing to be."  He lowered his voice to a tiny whisper.  "I'm looking after Mommy."</p><p>"I see that."  Lindsay fought against her urge to sweep him up into a hug.  "You're a good boy, Jason.  A <em>brave</em> boy.  Mommy's safe now and so are you - but we need to find Roo, okay?  Do you know where Elfie lives?"</p><p>"Course I do," the boy said proudly.  "She lives in the magic place.  She lives in A'rora."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Underneath the bed was an old sock, a battered Star Wars annual and a shoe box full of Adam's secret treasures, hidden from Charlie's prying eyes.  Unusual stones, small white feathers, a coin that he found in the dirt, a tiny set of worry dolls that Mary had made for him years ago out of wool and pipe cleaners; all these things were tucked away in the shadows.  Now Adam was hiding there too.</p><p>"Mr. Boo," he whispered.  "I'm scared."</p><p>Mr. Boo stared back with his green button eyes that were grey in the dark, but he didn't say anything helpful.  Even so, his red-sock heart was a hidden comfort.  Adam hugged him fiercely - and squeaked in dismay.</p><p>He ached.</p><p>He ached all over his body, and deep inside as well, though he knew that was a different kind of pain.  On the inside, he was aching for Momma.  Loneliness hurt worse than anything Daddy could do to him.</p><p>"It's my fault," he told the silent cat.  "I'm stupid, just like Daddy says.  I made her go away and they're all mad at me."</p><p>Was that a pitying look in the grey-green button eyes?  Or a blink of agreement?</p><p>Adam twisted slowly in the narrow space beneath the bed frame, trying to find a comfortable position.  Lying on his back was out of the question.  Daddy's belt had lashed at him like a monster's claws, striking him over and over until he was wailing in pain and fright; incoherent words, torn from his swollen throat.  The more he cried, the more Daddy hit him.  Why couldn't he be brave?  Daddy wanted a brave boy, like Charlie.</p><p>"It's all my fault," Adam whispered again, and he could almost swear that Mr. Boo was nodding.  "I have to fix it, okay?"</p><p>You should always own up to the things you did wrong.  Momma had told him that, and Mary.  Charlie pretended to tell the truth but no one caught him when he lied.  The older Adam's brother got, the smarter he became, and so fearless in his deceit; so good at pretending to be the perfect son.  Sometimes, Adam envied him - and sometimes, he wasn't sure.  Right now, Charlie had vanished entirely - off with his friends, no doubt; staying well out of Daddy's way until the storm was over.  Meanwhile, their sister had fled to her room when she found out that Momma was missing.  After his punishment, Adam had crawled to Mary's door and leaned against it for quite some time, afraid to knock because he could hear her sobbing.  In the end, he crept away.  Some things were just too sad for sharing.</p><p>Safe in the dark shadows under the bed, Adam tilted his head with an effort and studied the sounds of the house.  Everything was quiet, even Daddy.  Was he still there - or had he left them too?  Adam's heart beat faster and he pulled himself out of his hiding place with stiff, jerky movements, biting his lip to hold back the tears.  For once in his life, he knew exactly what he needed to do.  Clutching Mr. Boo to his chest like a shield in front of his heart, he rose to his feet and went in search of Daddy.</p><p>The carpet was soft between his bare toes and it soothed him.  Adam's legs were wobbly at first, but they grew stronger with each determined step.  Daddy wasn't in the bathroom, or the kitchen - even though suppertime had come and gone by now.  He wasn't lying on the couch, fast asleep, or in the backyard, soaking up the last rays of the evening sun as he gossiped with his neighbours.</p><p>Changing direction, Adam made himself creep up to Daddy's bedroom door, which was open, just a crack.  He peered through, feeling an unwelcome jolt of fear when he saw the figure sitting on the bed.  Daddy's back was turned and his head was in his hands.  He was breathing heavily.  Adam could almost feel the sadness that pulled at his shoulders and made them shake.  "Daddy," he whispered, stricken as only a child could be by the sight of his father in such distress.  Part of Adam - the bad part - felt a surge of bitter satisfaction, but he pushed it away.  Daddy was sad.  It was all Adam's fault, and so he had to help him.  "Daddy," he whispered again.</p><p>"It's all gone wrong."  Adam had never heard his father speak that way; so quiet and sad, like a child in a man's body.  "I don't understand.  Hattie..."</p><p>That was Momma's name.  He wanted Momma too.  Adam's throat grew tight with shared sorrow and he crept up behind his father like a mouse.</p><p>"I'm a good father.  You know that; I am.  I just want the best for my kids.  Our kids...  This world is so hard.  The boy needs to learn that, Hattie; can't you see?"</p><p><em>I do.  I did.  I learned it, Daddy; I promise.</em>  Adam pleaded with his father's back in silence, wishing his thoughts could cross the air between them.</p><p>"Please come back," Daddy sighed through his fingers.</p><p>Reaching out with a trembling hand, Adam touched his father.  "Daddy," he said for the third time.  Now he could fix it.  Now they could talk - and if Momma knew that they were friends again...</p><p>"Get off me!  What are you doing in here?  Are you spying on me?  How dare you?"</p><p>Daddy's head flew up.  Anger spilled from his mouth, hot and dangerous.  Adam drew back - but he wasn't quick enough to dodge the arm that swept him off his feet and over the corner of the bed.  <em>I'm on the floor again,</em> he thought, staring up at the bedroom ceiling in confusion.  "Mr. Boo," he murmured vaguely.  Where was the cat?  His empty fingers twitched and he tried to sit up.</p><p>Waves of pain washed through him, so bright they released him from the world and left him drifting.</p><p>"Get out of my sight," Daddy hissed, and he stepped right over Adam in a blur of darkness and fury that filled the room for a moment and then disappeared altogether.  Only the echo lingered.</p><p>
  <em>Out of my sight.  Get out of my sight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My sight...</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>It was Stella who brought the stranger to Mac's office.</p><p>She stood in the doorway, curling her fingers around a Styrofoam cup filled with something that smelled impossibly good.  <em>Not fair,</em> Mac thought, regarding his own mug which was still half full of the bitter-tasting, ugly drink that masqueraded as coffee around here.  Stella loved to tease him and he could see the twinkle in her eyes.  Caffeine envy.  An easy victory.  Turning away, he pretended to ignore the tantalising scent - too little, too late, he knew - and studied the tall man in the worn black suit who stood beyond the window.  Instinct drove him to his feet at once, but he could not hold back the guttural sound of annoyance that escaped him as he rose.</p><p>"FBI," he murmured.  It wasn't a question but Stella nodded anyway.</p><p>"I met him in the lobby," she said quietly.  "He'd been to three wrong floors already, poor man.  You expecting him?"</p><p>"No."  Peering through the glass for a second time, Mac found himself locked in an accidental staring contest.  The agent's eyes were pale in his dark face, a physical trait that was slightly unnerving.</p><p><em>Don't be ridiculous,</em> Mac told himself.  With a tilt of his head, he broke the connection between them and beckoned the agent into the office.  He was the host, after all.</p><p>"Pardon me," the tall man said, directing his words to Stella, who stood in his way.</p><p>Graciously, she stepped aside.  Tapping her fingers against the Styrofoam cup, she sent a silent message to Mac with a single raised eyebrow.  <em>Want me to stay?</em></p><p>Hard to answer until he knew the purpose of the agent's visit.  Mac held out his hand to the man.  Good manners demanded the same respect in return.  "Detective Taylor," he said, with a smile that was brief and non-committal.  No harm in sharing his name - after all, it was right there on his desk.  The rest, as always, would come down to politics and good judgement.  Mac preferred the latter but he was learning to play the game.  "And this is..."</p><p>"Detective Bonasera."  The agent's voice was deep and solemn, like the tolling of a bell.  "We've been introduced.  Your building is large, and directions were never my strong suit, I'm afraid.  This kind lady helped me find my way - and eased my embarrassment, for which I thank her.  I'm Agent Darrow."  He gave a stiff shrug that spoke of ageing joints, returning Mac's handshake with a sudden, shy smile of his own.  "Joseph, if you like.  May I speak with you?"  Catching the glance that passed between the two CSIs, he amended his request.  "Both of you, I mean?  Detective Bonasera is welcome to stay, if you deem it appropriate."</p><p>"Thank you," Mac said evenly, with only the barest hint of sarcasm.  He gestured to the seat before his desk, waiting for Agent Darrow to sit before he sank back down as well.  Stella moved across the room with confidence and placed the Styrofoam cup on his desk, right in front of him.  <em>Oh,</em> Mac thought, with a wry grin.  Then she settled herself on a soft chair; a witness to the conversation and a third voice, should the need arise.</p><p>Mac was surprised by her quiet restraint, but also glad of her company.  The Federal Bureau of Investigation, like any of the three letter agencies, had some excellent employees... and some nightmare examples of that breed, obsessed with their own superiority, and caring nothing for local law enforcement.  As the Crime Lab's representative, Mac liked to think that he was no pushover.  If it was Darrow's intention to throw his official weight around the place, he would find himself hitting a very large wall, very quickly.</p><p>The agent leaned forwards and began to speak.  His tone was earnest and his words respectful to a fault.  "I'm here to help you," he said.  "If you'll let me, that is.  I don't wish to poke my nose into your affairs - I've heard nothing but good about you and your team, Detective Taylor, and I know your capabilities - but some things are far too important..."  Pausing, he waited for Mac to reply.</p><p>Was that a technique they taught at Quantico?  Manipulation 101?  If so, Mac thought, Darrow had learned his lesson well.  There was something about his old-fashioned manner that pulled you in and made you want to trust him.</p><p>Perhaps it was honesty.</p><p><em>I'm far too cynical,</em> Mac sighed.  This was a good man.  His gut knew it - why did his brain have to question the fact?  He glanced at Stella, whose frown of concentration suggested that she, for one, was eager to hear what Darrow had to tell them.  "Thank you," Mac said, at last.  "For your consideration.  And your offer..."  A nod was the cue for Darrow to continue with his speech.</p><p>Reaching into his inner pocket, the agent pulled out a flash drive and clutched it tightly in his hand.  He did not speak of it, but Mac felt the weight of its tiny presence all the same.  "Ruth Eggar," Darrow said.  There was a faint tremor in his voice; an unexpected sign of emotion - yet his politeness did not waver.  "You're working the case, I believe?"</p><p>And now Mac's attention was well and truly captured.  Behind Darrow, Stella's back stiffened and her head rose.  He knew that she was listening intently as he replied.  "No secret there.  It's all over the news."</p><p>"Yes it is," Darrow nodded.  He placed the little flash drive on Mac's desk, still claiming ownership with the tips of his fingers.  "Detective Taylor, you need to understand the big picture.  Ruth's disappearance is far more significant than you can possibly imagine."</p><p>"She's not the only one," Stella murmured.</p><p>"No, she's not."</p><p>"You mean Treasure Matthews."  Mac watched the agent carefully; noting his jolt of surprise.  "Or do you?"  Something else was going on here and he didn't think he was going to like Darrow's revelation when it finally came.</p><p>"Treasure."  Darrow breathed the name with sorrow, tasting the way it sounded on his tongue; committing it to memory.  "Another lost girl.  When did this happen?"</p><p>Stella was on her feet by now and standing directly behind him.  "Last night.  That's two girls missing, by our count."</p><p>"How many more?" Mac asked simply.</p><p>It was the haunted look in Darrow's pale eyes that told the detective he was right.  "Thirty six."</p><p>"Thirty <em>six</em>?"  Stella said it out loud but Mac was equally horrified.  "The same man?  And nobody's managed to catch him?  Or is this some kind of trafficking ring?"</p><p>Mac came up with a different question.  "Why are we only hearing about this now?"</p><p>Darrow held up his free hand to silence them.  Once again, Mac was quietly impressed by his solemn authority.  "Thirty six children," he repeated, turning first to Stella.  "And the same man, yes.  Five years I've been chasing him.  Obsessive, they label me when they think I'm not listening, and maybe they're right, but I simply <em>cannot</em> let this go.  He's the Devil, detective, and God may be the only one to judge him in the end, but I would judge myself far more harshly if I turned my back on these children - for what?  The opinions of men?"</p><p>"You've been pulled off the case," Mac surmised.</p><p>"More like isolated."  Darrow turned and stared at him.  "They took away my team and left me to follow my quest, all alone."  He sighed.  "They humour me."</p><p>"Five years - and no evidence?" Shaking her head, Stella quantified her statement.  "I'm just trying to play Devil's Advocate here.  Are you sure you've got the right man in your sights?  And that the cases are linked?  So many children..."</p><p>"Devil's Advocate?"  Something about the phrase made Darrow's lips tighten in a smile that displayed no amusement whatsoever.  "Are <em>you</em> sure that's a role you want to be playing?  Yes, I have evidence, Detective Bonasera."  He tapped the flash drive with his fingers.  "Samples of DNA.  Photographs.  Prints, even."  Lifting those same fingers into the air, he snapped them dismissively.  "All circumstantial, according to that weasel lawyer of his, so quick with his own accusations.  Harassment, he calls it.  Jumped-up charges made by an agent so frustrated, he's looking for someone - <em>anyone - </em>to blame and Richard Allen is the innocent soul he's fixated upon."</p><p>"Richard Allen," Mac murmured, sounding the name, just as Darrow had done.</p><p>The agent nodded.  "Two years ago, they slapped me with a restraining order.  That didn't stop me.  I still follow him, at a distance.  Four state lines he's crossed since then, but here I am, right behind him..."</p><p>"And now two more girls have disappeared."</p><p>"Just so."  Darrow laid his palm upon the flash drive and slid it all the way across Mac's desk.  "Here's my problem, detective, and my sincere offer.  Take my evidence - all of it.  Let me help you with your case.  I can't go near Richard Allen without being locked away myself."  Like a child, his expression was eager.  "But <em>you</em> can..."</p><p>Now that the plea hung between them in mid-air, Darrow leaned back, waiting for Mac's response.  It was Stella who spoke first, however.  "Richard Allen.  Could this really be the Piper?"</p><p>Darrow froze.  Mac saw it and somehow he knew, in that very instant, just how he ought to proceed.</p><p>"The Piper?  What are you talking about?" the agent breathed.</p><p>Mac took the flash drive and stood up, directing his gaze through the far window and beyond; to a room full of blinking lights where a lab tech beavered away at a keyboard, his scruffy hair visible over the bank of screens.  Darrow turned to follow his line of sight, still waiting for the answer to his question.</p><p>"Seems there might be information we can share in return, Agent Darrow," Mac said quietly.  Passing his hand through the heat rising from the Styrofoam cup, he let the man shake it once again.  "Welcome to the Crime Lab."  Darrow's eyes lit up and he gave them both a radiant smile that was full of relief and gratitude.</p><p>"What now?" he demanded, eager to begin.</p><p>Mac left his desk.  "Now?" he said.  "Follow me."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>It was strangely peaceful on the floor.</p><p>Adam lay there for a while and thought of nothing.  His body felt empty, as though his mind had flown away and left it behind; a useless, unwanted thing.  The part of him that was truly Adam floated somewhere in between, not quite belonging to one world or the other until the sound of running water dragged his mind and body back together and forced them to stay that way.  He was supposed to do... something.  What was it, exactly?  Oh yes...</p><p>"Move," he said thickly.  The word made sense but the action was hard.  Momma had told him a bedtime story once, about a shipwrecked traveller who woke up on a foreign shore and found that he had been tied to the ground by a host of tiny people; a comical image that made Adam laugh out loud when she described it.  Momma was so good at reading and voices.  Right now, however, it didn't seem funny at all.  Frightened by his own imagination, Adam twisted his head and scanned the carpet, just in case.  Much to his relief, the only little creature he saw nearby was Mr. Boo.  Button eyes winked at him, upside down, between a pair of fuzzy legs.</p><p>"Boo!" Adam whispered.  It was an old joke between them and it made him smile.  The smile made him feel much better and he moved his arms at last, pushing up with a squeak and a groan as his back protested.  So many aches demanded his attention that he couldn't sort them out; throbbing and insistent, they simply joined together like bees in a hive and made one big, buzzing ache that threatened to fill him up completely.</p><p>Adam stared at Mr. Boo and thought about Choices.</p><p>He could choose to give in to the angry, buzzing pain and lie back down again.  But this was Daddy's room and that meant Daddy would return.</p><p>"Bad idea," Adam breathed, and that was the end of his first Choice.  Mr. Boo seemed to agree - at least, he didn't raise any objections.</p><p>Choice Two was a familiar one, safe and cowardly.  Adam despised it.  He could crawl back to his own room like a puppy with its tail between its legs, and hide there all alone until Charlie came back.  Charlie didn't like him but Adam knew that he would be a little safer in his brother's company.  And safety was the only thing he craved right now...</p><p>Choice Three hovered before him like a will o' the wisp, so entrancing it almost stole his breath away.  Adam stared into the brightness and was captured, body and soul.</p><p>He would finish the journey he started that morning.</p><p>He would go to Thomas.</p><p>Thomas had promised that he could go back.  Thomas had been nothing but kind to him.  Thomas hadn't laughed at him, or hit him, or called him a baby when...</p><p>Adam blocked the memory.  "Come on," he said to Mr. Boo, his blue eyes seeing the cat even as his mind saw the bright red sock-heart deep inside his little friend.</p><p>He knew what the running water meant.  Daddy was taking a shower.  Now was the only time that Adam could do this and he had to move quickly.  He struggled to his feet and swayed.  Mr. Boo dangled from his hand, still upside down and less than happy, but Adam's whole attention was fixed on the sweet rushing sound that would hide his escape.</p><p>Barefoot, he tiptoed out of the room.  No time to fetch his shoes, even though he felt a twinge of alarm at the thought of walking all that way without them.</p><p>Steam was creeping from the bathroom, curling under the door and reaching for his ankles with a ghostly hand.  He shot past it quickly and fled through the house but the ghost was still in his head and the hand that reached for him belonged to Daddy.</p><p>Adam turned around, full of horror... and found that he was alone.</p><p>"Stupid cat," he said to Mr. Boo, as though the blame lay squarely on his furry shoulders.</p><p>Mr. Boo looked at him reproachfully.  Adam pulled the cat into his arms and took an enormous breath.  There it stood, right before him - the Front Door, the Choice that could not be unmade once he had walked through it and closed it behind him.</p><p>"I'm gonna do it," he whispered, and tugged at the lock.  The Front Door swung open with ease and the world appeared.  It was dark and terrifying.  Fear lay behind him and fear lay ahead.  "I can be brave," Adam told himself stoutly and hugged Mr. Boo as he crossed the threshold.</p><p>His fingers stretched out again and clutched the handle, inching the Door back into its frame so carefully that it seemed to take forever.  Adam was frozen in time, a boy out of place.  "What am I doing?" he wondered suddenly, knowing that the punishment, when it came, would be far worse than anything he could imagine.</p><p>'Click,' said the lock, and that was that.</p><p>He stood on the path in his bare feet and stared at the silent house.</p><p>Then he turned and walked away.</p><p>The moon smiled down in sympathy; an angel watching over him.  Adam was grateful for her light and the shadows she spilled in his path.  He limped from one to the next and nobody saw him.  A man with a dog passed by, so close that the dog's eager nose pushed right into Adam's face as he crouched in the darkness, trembling.  "Here, boy," said the man, scaring Adam, but it was the Labrador he called to his side, yanking on his chain to make him leave the fascinating scent that he had found.  Adam stayed in his hiding place until they had both disappeared, and then he fled.</p><p>Tiny stones jabbed into the soles of his feet but he pressed his lips together and ran on.  After a while, he didn't even feel the pain.  Soon enough, he left the street altogether, heading down the shortcut that led to the main road where Thomas lived.  "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming," he chanted, kicking up clouds of dust as he raced through the bushed.  Adam had never known that he could run so fast, and the feeling was exhilarating.  His heart battered against his chest as though it was trying to leap out and beat him in the race to safety.  Blood hummed in his ears and made him giddy.  There, in the distance, he could see his goal and it called to him, spurring him on.</p><p>He burst from the bushes and staggered to a halt.</p><p>The house was right in front of him, on the other side of the road.  Thomas had closed all his curtains, giving the windows a sleepy look that was charming but also a sign that he did not want to be disturbed.</p><p>Adam's legs were shaking and, now that he had stopped, the pain from his torn feet claimed his attention once more and started to spread upwards like a hot flame, making him whimper.</p><p>He hobbled across the road - but somehow he could not bring himself to knock on the door, or even walk up the path.  The power of his own fear was sudden and dreadful.</p><p>What if Thomas should turn him away after all?  It was late, and late-night visitors were trouble; Daddy always said so.  <em>I'll wait,</em> Adam thought, with a simple faith that brought him peace at last.  <em>I'll wait until the morning.  Then it'll be like it was before.</em></p><p>There was a little wooden gate beyond the house that led to a backyard.  Adam opened it and stumbled through.  He crossed the dry grass and found a bush that was hollow enough to let him curl up beneath it.  When he lay down, he could feel his whole body protesting but he was so tired by now that his aches began to drain away into the earth below him, dragging his consciousness with them.  He hugged Mr. Boo and blinked at the quiet house with eyes that could barely focus.  "I did it," he murmured.</p><p>Moments later, he was fast asleep.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Even Adam, busy as he was, couldn't fail to spot the three figures heading purposefully in his direction.  Two of them, he knew.  Mac Taylor was a familiar presence and Stella Bonasera drew his gaze whenever she strode past the window.  But who was the third?  He tried not to stare too hard at the tall, dark stranger with the disconcerting eyes, but Adam had never been all that good at subterfuge and, right now, it was Stella who caught him in the act.  Her lips curled ever so slightly, causing him to blush to the roots of his hair.</p><p>He scrambled to his feet, ready to report, but Mac waved him back down into his seat.  "I'm your boss, not your commanding officer," he said in a gruff, deadpan manner that left Adam wondering - had he just been teased, or reprimanded?</p><p>"Adam Ross," he said politely to the tall man in the dark suit.  <em>And you are...?</em>  The question was implied in the tilt of his head.  He wasn't brave enough to ask out loud - not with both detectives standing over him.</p><p>The tall man smiled, as though he saw right to the heart of Adam's awkwardness and sympathised.  He held out his hand and Adam took it gladly.</p><p>"Agent Darrow," the man said in a deep voice.  "FBI."</p><p>FBI!  Adam fought against a sudden and ridiculous urge to drop the giant hand and gape like a codfish.</p><p>"Mm," he squeaked, feeling awestruck and way, <em>way</em> out of his depth.</p><p>"Agent Darrow is working the same case," Mac told him calmly.  "I want you to tell him about the Piper."</p><p>Such a simple request - and yet it blew Adam's mind.  "You mean you don't...?  No, of course not, or you wouldn't be...  Um, that is...  Sure, no problem, Boss - ah, Detective Taylor."  <em>Shut up, Adam, you jerk, </em>he told himself roughly as he skimmed the chair across to a separate desk where two laptops waited, side by side.  The content of Treasure's computer was far less personal than that of Ruth Eggar - clearly, schoolwork was a burden to her and he had ploughed through copious revision notes, sample papers and bookmarked sites before he came across the one thing he was looking for - the vital thing that both girls had in common.  'The Gates of Dawn', its icon hidden within a random folder, buried deep in her system and bearing the curious name of 'Willow'.  Her avatar, perhaps?  One more item on his long list of 'things to find out before Mac wants to Know'.</p><p>Swiping the touch pad on Ruth's laptop, Adam let the desktop spring back into life, complete with its tell-tale background.  Darrow moved in closer, narrowing his eyes as he stared at the image.  "Is that who I think...?"</p><p>"It is.  The Pied Piper of Hamelin," Adam said.  "Our guy... your guy... um, the suspect, he identifies with this figure somehow.  He's luring the girls away by offering friendship and, I think, a better life.  Mr. Piper is his alias - or one of them, at least.  I don't know his real name; I'm sorry.  Not yet."</p><p>"I do."  Darrow's deep voice hardened, making Adam flinch.  There was loathing behind his words; deep and shocking.  "His name is Richard Allan."</p><p>"Oh!"  Clearly this was no news to Mac and Stella.  Adam swallowed.  "And, um, h-how long have you...?"</p><p>"Been looking for him?  Too long."  Folding his arms, Darrow tried to recreate his smile but the result was less than natural.  "This could be the break I need.  <em>We</em> need," he amended quickly, just as Adam had done.</p><p>"Then... you don't know about the game, either?"  Adam risked a glance in Mac's direction, seeking reassurance.  He was surprised by what he saw - a glimmer of pride and a subtle nod that gave Adam all the confidence he needed.  "See, that's how he talks to them, I think.  He's in the game itself - 'The Gates of Dawn'.  It's the perfect trap; a magical world that offers everything they lack, right there on the computer screen, like a doorway to freedom."  It was hard to mask the emotion he felt.  "<em>I'd </em>take it," he added softly.  "If I was in their position, I mean.  Wouldn't you...?"  The question was rhetorical.  He didn't expect them to answer.</p><p>"Any progress with the designers?"  Sure enough, Mac chose to move the conversation forward.</p><p>"Well, that depends," Adam sighed.  "Can you speak Japanese?  I'm working on it, Boss, okay?  Far as I can tell, the game isn't worldwide - it's only available in the U.S.  Contracting out of the country was smart, though, right?  Means we're gonna struggle..."  Once more, he locked eyes with Mac and his protest died away.  "I'll let you know when I've got something."</p><p>"I know you will."</p><p>"A magical world... you're talking about Aurora, aren't you?  Ruth's brother mentioned it as well.  Have you tried the game yet?"  This time, it was Stella who spoke, in a voice that was eager but friendly.  Adam grinned at her, no longer feeling quite so shy.</p><p>"Are you kidding?  All those years, my parents warned me - video games were a waste of time.  Now here I am, first week in the New York Crime Lab... and I'm playing games again.  Who knew?"</p><p>Stella laughed.  "In this job, Adam, you never know what skills might turn out to be valuable."</p><p>"Okay."  He ducked his head.  For a few moments, he had quite forgotten Mac and Darrow but, of course, they were right there, listening to every word.  <em>Focus, Adam,</em> he told himself, and took a deep breath.  "Boss, I figure the best time to play is when school's out.  That's in less than an hour, and you said... Well, I need someone to be here with me.  A witness, right?"</p><p>"You'll have it," Mac nodded.  "Leave that to me.  In the meantime, keep digging.  Stella and I are going to take a look at Agent Darrow's files."  He held up a flash drive.</p><p><em>It looks so innocent,</em> Adam thought.  Just like the game, and the children themselves.</p><p>"How many...?" he blurted out, as the three of them turned to leave the room.  "Altogether?  How many kids?"</p><p><em>You don't want to know,</em> said Darrow's eyes.  But Adam did.  He <em>had</em> to know - and it was Mac who saw his need.</p><p>"Thirty six."  The answer was shocking, but Mac didn't falter.  Adam envied his grim composure.  "And the two girls in New York, which makes..."</p><p>"Thirty eight."  Adam swallowed.  <em>So many.</em>  He wasn't blind; he knew the bad things that adults could do to children.  God, how he knew it...  Yet this was beyond comprehension.</p><p>He rose to his feet in a show of respect that was wholly instinctive.  "We'll get him, Agent Darrow," he said quietly.  "We have to."</p><p>"Yes," Darrow said.  "We do."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Lindsay was secretly delighted by the size of Adam's grin when he realised who it was that had come to be the 'babysitter' for his online quest.  "I was kind of hoping it'd be you," he confessed, when she raised her eyebrows.  "You know, 'cause we worked together yesterday."</p><p>"Actually," she said, "I asked for this.  I wanted to see Aurora for myself.  And <em>yes</em>," she added, smiling back at him.  "I like working with you, too.  We newbies have to stick together, right?"</p><p>Adam giggled.  "What up?" he crooned, and raised his hand for a high five.  "Go, Team Newbie."</p><p>Lindsay slapped his palm, feeling slightly ridiculous when a passing lab tech gave them a withering look of condescension.  Adam never noticed - or, if he did, it didn't seem to faze him.  "What's got into you?" she said.</p><p>Much to her amusement, he answered the question quite literally.  "Two hot dogs.  Three cups of break room coffee.  And <em>far</em> too much sugar - my head's kinda buzzing right now..."  He blinked and stared at her with those bright blue eyes of his.</p><p>"Tired, are we?"</p><p>"Not anymore."  He giggled again.  "Shall we?"</p><p>"Let's."</p><p>Together, they sat down in front of the screen.  "You know," Adam offered, "I can make you an avatar too, if you like.  Easy.  Then we can do this together."</p><p>"No, thanks," she told him firmly.  "I want to see your character, though.  Wait - let me guess.  You're... a knight in shining armour."  He shook his head.  "A fairy, then," she persisted, nudging him.  "You'd make such a cute little fairy, Adam."</p><p>"Thanks a lot," he grumbled, and his cheeks were pink.  "It's not that kind of world.  No fairies, or pixies, or...  Look, I'm a cat-boy, okay?"</p><p>"I'm sorry."  Something had upset him, she could tell, though for the life of her, she didn't know what it could be.  Tactfully, she changd her tone.  "Cat-boy?"</p><p>The game had started up by now, so Adam gestured to the screen.  She had to admit, the character was charming.  "He looks like you."</p><p>"Are you saying I've got whiskers and a tail, Monroe?" he challenged her.  She gave his scruffy little beard a pointed look and he laughed; a proper laugh.  She was forgiven.</p><p>"Relax.  I'm saying I like it.  Him.  What's his name?  <em>Your</em> name... dammit, this is confusing, Adam."</p><p>"His name is Boo."  Adam shrugged.  "See, I had this stuffed cat when I was a kid..."</p><p>Something in the softness of his voice made her heart ache.  "Care Bears," she blurted out, surprising herself.  What was this - confession time?  "My bed was full of them.  And if you <em>dare</em> breathe a word to Danny Messer..."</p><p>They stared at each other in silence.  "I won't," Adam promised, at last.</p><p>"Because, you know, I will kill you," Lindsay warned him with mock-severity.  "Now then, tell me about this quest of yours, and let's get on with it, before Mac appears and wants to know what we've been doing all this time."</p><p>"Ooh - good point."  Adam nodded.  "Okay.  First thing, we have to visit the Trade Bridge.  That's where all the deals go down.  If we're lucky, there'll be a map for sale in one of the stores that'll lead us right to the temple of Pan."</p><p>"And if we're unlucky...?"</p><p>"Trolls," he said.  "Trolls can be tricky.  I'll have to <em>win</em> the map instead."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Adam was good.  Lindsay had to admit it.  Boo the cat-boy travelled through Aurora with far more confidence and flair than she had seen so far in his real-life counterpart.  It was almost as though, by shedding his own body, Adam released his true self - a hero in this cartoon world, who bore himself with dignity and courage.</p><p>"You're having fun," she observed, as he studied the map - bravely won from a <em>very </em>ugly troll, now deceased - and tried to work out the safest route to the Temple of Pan.</p><p>"I am."  He looked at her sideways.  "Are you?  I know this kind of thing can be boring for some people."</p><p>"It's a beautiful place.  I can see the attraction.  Especially for someone like Ruth.  Or <em>you</em>," she added slyly.  "You seem to have the ability to lose yourself in your imagination.  I envy you that.  I've always been far too practical."</p><p>"That's a good trait," he said, clearly trying to encourage her.  Perhaps he <em>was</em> a secret hero after all, full of kindness.  "Imagination has its down-side, okay?  It's far too easy to get carried away.  Just ask Ruth and Treasure..."  His voice tailed off.  "I'm sorry.  That was a bad thing to say."</p><p>"Adam."  Lindsay's voice was quiet.  "What did I tell you yesterday about apologising?"</p><p>He gave a silent nod and returned to his map.  "There," he said, with a stab of his finger.  "Through the Night Wood, along the Riverbank and into the Shifting Valley.  I think that'll do it."</p><p>"I'm no expert - but aren't you supposed to carry out these quests in a group?  You think you can make it on your own?"</p><p>He glanced at her and his face was troubled.  "Here's the thing," he explained.  "if this temple <em>is</em> such a dangerous place - well, I really don't want to be the one who brought more kids into the Piper's clutches.  I'll do this, Lindsay; I promise.  But I'm not risking the safety of anyone else.  Thirty eight children."  He slammed his fist against the desk.  "That's <em>enough</em>."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Lindsay watched as the lab grew quiet all around them.  There was a light in Mac's office - he never seemed to go home and she was starting to wonder if, like her, he even <em>had</em> one - but the bustling crowd that filled the corridors by day had slipped away in a subtle stream, diminishing until the only workers that remained were the night shift and a dedicated handful that included Adam and herself.  <em>I used to have a life,</em> she mused, with a wry grin, stretching out her arms and tugging at the muscles in her back.  Oh well - at least Grover the dog would have a peaceful night without his new bedfellow.</p><p>"You want some coffee?  Again?"</p><p>Adam shook his head.  He was concentrating, and that meant his reply was stilted.  "Eight cups.  Too many.  You go.  Wait!"</p><p>Halfway out of her seat, she halted.  "What's the matter?"</p><p>He stared at her in owlish glee, rubbing his tired eyes and blinking.  "I did it," he breathed.  "We're there!"</p><p>"The Temple?"</p><p>"The Temple."</p><p>She could hear the triumph in his voice and it filled her with new energy.  "Okay, so now what?"</p><p>"Let's see."  The cat-boy strode up to the great wooden doors and both humans leaned in to read the notice hanging on the lintel.</p><p><em>"Travellers, make your choice,"</em> it warned them.<br/><em>"Five maids are we, but only one of us is true.<br/></em><em>Select your guide and say her name.<br/></em><em>If you are wise and choose the same<br/></em><em>Then she will see you through."</em></p><p>Beneath the message was a list.  Adam read it out loud.</p><p>
  <em>Faye the Fairest,<br/>Eleanor the Bold,<br/>Leanne the Wealthy,<br/>Carolyn the Old<br/>And Simple Elfie."</em>
</p><p>Lindsay grabbed his arm.  "I have the answer," she cried.  "Adam, you're right; this is it.  You really did it.  The answer is Elfie!  Simple Elfie."</p><p>"Are you sure?"</p><p>Her eyes were shining, she knew it, and so were his.  "I'm sure," she said firmly.  "A little bird told me this morning, and now I know <em>exactly</em> what he meant."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Thomas hopped off the bar stool, missed his footing and landed on his knees.  For some reason, that seemed incredibly funny.</p><p>"You okay down there?"  The girl behind the bar was hot.  Red-heads.  Thomas loved a red-head once, back in Cambridge; loved her deeply from across the lecture hall.  They never spoke but he could tell that she was an angel in disguise.  What was her name again...?</p><p>"Sophie," he murmured.  The bartender smiled back and pointed to the name tag on her low cut top, which hinted that her name was 'Bella'.  Clearly, she was used to rambling drunks.  "I'm fine," he told her, climbing to his feet.  "One beer too many... or was it three?"  He giggled and clapped a hand over his mouth, ashamed of the girly sound.  To tell the truth, he had lost count of his alcohol intake long ago - but he was deliciously numb and that was the point of the exercise, wasn't it?</p><p>"Fine?" Bella said, with her arms folded.  "Yes, I can see that.  Time to go home, maybe?"</p><p>Thomas held up a finger and paused the conversation as the room swayed around him.  When it was steady again, he continued.  "Genius," he told her.  "You.  A gen... a genius."</p><p>"And you're a cutie."  Moving out from behind the bar, she draped an arm across hisshoulders and steered him to the door.  "If you weren't so wasted..."</p><p>"Sober as a judge," he assured her, and hiccupped.  Bella raised an eyebrow.  "A drunken judge," he sighed.  "I'll be back.  Tomorrow.  Back tomorrow, not drunk.  You're nice."  He could hear the longing in his words.  Did she hear it too?</p><p>Shaking her head, Bella opened the door for him.  "You won't remember a thing about me in the morning."</p><p>"I'll remember everything," he promised her.  "My Sophie.  Dream of my heart."</p><p>Leaving her speechless, he stumbled away down the street.</p><p>Home was farther than he thought.  Or perhaps he was going in circles.  High in the dark sky, the moon watched him, full of contempt for his pitiful state.  "Jus' you try it," he told her crossly.  "Think it's easy down here?  All you do is spin around the earth; round and round and...  I've got to walk in a straight line.  Got no equilib...  Equi...  Okay, gravity hates me," he declared, as he wobbled and tripped, nearly falling again.  He stuck out his arms like a tightrope walker.  "One step after the other.  Tha's the way."  He could see his house by now, in the distance, windows glowing like a set of magic lanterns.  "Lef' the lights on.  Welcome back, Thomas.  Mister Thomas..."  This time, the giggle was sad, which confused him.</p><p>When Thomas finally reached his front door, he leaned against it, stroking it fondly.  "Love my house," he said.  Grasping the key was a challenge, and aiming it took even more concentration, but Thomas was determined.  There was a nice soft bed inside, and water.  "I need water," he mumbled as the tiny key slipped into the lock and turned with a smug little click.</p><p>Full of relief, he stepped across the threshold.</p><p>The kitchen light was off, so he switched it on, then moved to the sink and set the cold water free, scooping handfuls of the precious liquid into his mouth and throwing it over his head like a tumbling shower of rain.  God, he missed the rain.  Gasping, he shook himself, sending water everywhere.  The room spun again and he grasped the edge of the sink with his long fingers.  "Don't want to be sick," he said plaintively.  Drops ran down his face like tears.  "So stupid..."</p><p>Leaning forwards, he caught sight of his face; a sad ghost in the window.  Beyond his reflection, light spilled over the garden, bringing the sleeping world to life in eerie monochrome.  His eye was drawn by the contrast; dark shadows, bound and diminished by patches of silver.</p><p>The air shifted and the garden shivered.</p><p>Thomas caught his breath and stared.  His mouth was open and his eyes were wide.</p><p>"Something's out there," he muttered.  He couldn't see it, exactly, but he could feel it; there, beneath the nearest bush, where the shadows were deep.  The alcohol in his system made him feel both reckless and afraid.  Like the girl in the scary movie who always looks when she really shouldn't, he opened the back door.</p><p>A cool wind assaulted him, freezing the droplets that covered his face.</p><p>"Hello?" he called.  "Tch, tch, tch?"  Was the visitor human or animal?  Hopefully, one of the two, Thomas thought to himself with ghoulish fervour.  A cat or a dog would be preferable.  Wait - did they have wolves in Arizona?  He fought back a startling image of white teeth, flying at his throat...  "Surely not," he reasoned.  "Don't be such a coward."</p><p>Leaving the house entirely, he stepped out onto the dry grass, inching closer to the bush.  With any luck, this whole thing would turn out to be a figment of his over-wrought imagination.</p><p>Then he heard it breathing.  Tiny, panting breaths; uncontrolled and full of fear.  They sounded... human.</p><p>"Hey," Thomas said, reaching out.  "Who's there?  Are you okay?"</p><p>With a flurry of leaves, a white face appeared before him.  "Where am I?" said a small voice.  Thomas fell back onto the grass and passed a hand through his hair in bewilderment.</p><p><em>I'm never drinking again,</em> he vowed.  This was a dream, brought on by his shameful condition.  What else could it be?</p><p>The boy crawled out of the bush.  His movements were stiff and his breath was still ragged.  Thomas knew him instantly.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Mister Thomas," Adam said.  "I fell asleep..."  He looked around the night garden.  "I didn't mean...  Are you angry?"  Hugging himself in his misery, he cried out in pain, then stifled it quickly.  "Please don't be angry," he begged. </p><p>And he burst into tears.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Too many faces.</p><p>Mac looked at the pictures tacked all over the glass and then at the two still left in his hand, which had nowhere to go.  Ruth Eggar and Treasure Matthews stared up at him.  <em>You're losing us,</em> they said.  <em>Too many faces.</em></p><p>Darrow's flash drive had yielded so much information that the session in the conference room had come close to overwhelming Mac.  Stella had felt the same way; he was certain of that - watching her jaw at the time, he had seen it tighten more and more with every documented incident that Darrow set before them; a sure sign that she, too, was trying to hold back her distress.  At first glance, there was no way to tell which, if any, of the files would prove to be useful.  It was a maze that needed thorough exploration.  Mac preferred visual images to stimulate his thoughts and so, once Stella had left with Darrow to visit Judge Matthews, the mother of the most recent victim, he set the printer running until it was burning hot.  One hour later, here he stood before his handiwork - and what had he gained, exactly?</p><p>"A headache," he muttered, and glared at the man in the centre of his display.  Richard Allan - was he the Devil incarnate or Darrow's white whale?  Had one person really managed to take all these children without being caught?  Girls <em>and</em> boys surrounded his image on the glass.  Mac was still trying to wrap his head around that particular revelation.  Allan was a spider in the middle of his web; a mournful-looking individual with mousy hair and large grey eyes that some might find appealing.  Mac didn't like them at all.</p><p>"Stop that," he told himself sharply.  There he was again, making snap judgements based upon an emotional reaction.  For all he knew, Agent Darrow was on the wrong track and Allan was innocent; no more the Piper than Flack was, say, or Adam Ross.  Evidence - that was the key to the whole case, as always.  "And don't you forget it," he grumbled.</p><p>Shuffling the pictures on the glass, he created a space for the last two faces and wrote their names underneath in white pen, though he needed no reminder.  Then he sat down at his desk with a sigh.  Thirty eight young pairs of eyes watched him reach for the keyboard and open the first file in his virtual stack.  Every face was a link in the chain that bound him to his task.  Tonight, he would read and re-read everything, making notes so that, tomorrow morning, he could present a concise and helpful summary to his whole team, followed by a division of new strands to follow.  That was his responsibility; not just to his colleagues but also to the missing children, their parents - and the agent who had struggled to help them for five long years.</p><p>A cry of delight broke through Mac's fragile concentration.  Looking up, he saw that it came from the AV lab, where Lindsay and Adam were working together.  Officially, their shifts had ended hours ago - <em>as did mine</em>, he thought wryly.  He was a firm believer in leading by example - but was he setting a bad example here, or a good one?  Either way, he couldn't help but be impressed by their dedication.  "They're a perfect fit," he murmured to himself.  The thought gave him comfort, a real sense that things were finally settling down.  Turning in his chair, he gazed at the thirty eight children for a long moment and then glanced at the AV lab once more.</p><p>He rose to his feet.</p><p><em>I want to know what they've found,</em> he thought, recognising the flimsy excuse for what it was, even as he took it for his motive.  Deep down, what he really wanted was to be in <em>that</em> room, not this one - just for a little while.  Being a team meant far more than sharing the work load.  It meant sharing the burden as well.  Mac knew that his jaded spirit would be refreshed by a dose of Adam's breathless enthusiasm and Lindsay's cheerful smile.</p><p>Crossing the corridor, he waited in the doorway.  For once, he was determined not to make the lab tech jump out of his skin.  "Good news?" he said in a quiet voice.</p><p>"Oh, yes," Adam replied, before he realised who had spoken.  "Boss!" he cried, and something in the way he said it made Mac feel sincerely welcome.  "You gotta see this.  We're on the right track!  We found the Temple of Pan, and Ruth's friend Elfie... you know about Elfie, right?"  He offered his seat, but Mac declined and stood behind him, staring at the image on the screen.</p><p>"Stella briefed me, yes.  Are you saying she's... in there?  A character?"</p><p>"Or an... avatar."  Lindsay's eyes flicked across to Adam, checking that the word was right.  "We don't know which.  We're just about to meet her."</p><p>"Want to join us?" Adam grinned.  "It's fun."</p><p>"So I heard," Mac told him, one eyebrow raised.  The two gamers shared another glance, full of guilt this time.</p><p>"Sorry, Mac.  Did we disturb you?"  Lindsay looked suitably penitent but Mac dismissed her apology.</p><p>"Only in a good way."  He pulled up a chair and sat down beside Adam, wondering as he did so how anyone could look so nervous and yet so thrilled at the same time.  "Tell me more."</p><p>Adam pointed to the sign on the wooden lintel and Mac read it carefully.  "I see.  And now?"</p><p>"Now?" Adam said, his fingers twitching as they hovered over the keyboard.  "Now we open the door..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Boo the cat-boy laid his hand against the ancient wood and the door swung open.  Checking the contents of his pack for the last time, he passed through.  The world beyond was dark - more than shadow; more than night.  Utter blackness filled his vision.  What lay beyond, he could not tell...</em>
</p><p>"What happened?  Did the game freeze?" Lindsay asked him.  The breathless note in her voice made Adam smile.  <em>Sooner or later,</em> he thought.  <em>Sooner or later, a good story will suck you in.</em></p><p>"I don't think so.  Just wait," he cautioned them both.  They sat before the screen in silence - and then, suddenly, they heard it, pouring from the speakers; high and pure, the sound of a pipe...</p><p>
  <em>Boo heard the magic before he saw it.  As the music swelled, a bright shape loomed towards him, spinning in an endless circle.  When it drew closer, the shape blurred and separated into five distinct figures.  They danced before him, round and round, four maidens clad in white and a child with flowers in her tangled hair.  It was the child who smiled at him as she spun by.  "Choose," she cried in a high voice.  Her eyes were green and her smile was bright in the darkness.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Boo studied the maidens.  This was a puzzle and he thought he knew the answer, but he did not wish to make a mistake at this crucial point in his quest...</em>
</p><p>"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Adam said, as he studied his scribbled notes.  "Faye the Fairest."  He pointed to a slender creature whose long pale hair flashed with every turn of the dance.</p><p>"Eleanor the Bold."  Lindsay's finger stabbed at the tilted chin of a woman who moved with the grace of a trained fighter.</p><p>"Leanne the Wealthy," Mac supplied.  No confusion there; the maiden practically dripped jewels, from the comb in her hair to the delicate silver chain around her ankle.</p><p>"Carolyn the Old."  Grey hair and a clever face - <em>this is easy,</em> Adam thought, with growing confidence.  He reached for the mouse and clicked on the little girl.  "Which means you've got to be..."</p><p>
  <em>"Simple Elfie," Boo said to the child.  With a giggle of delight, she dropped her hands and the other dancers winked out of existence, leaving the two of them alone in the darkness.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You chose me," she said, and twirled on the spot.  Her costume changed as she did so and he stared at the tiny figure before him, a medieval jester girl, complete with jingling bells on her hat.  "I'm so happy."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Darkness turned to grey.  Colour bled through the world all around them.  Boo found that he was standing on green grass, in a grotto made of birch trees whose silver branches shivered in time to the music that still played on.  Beneath the refrain, he heard the sound of water moving quickly.  There was a river nearby and blue sky overhead, through the leaves.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Will you take me to the Piper?" Boo said...</em>
</p><p>"Pan," Lindsay interrupted.  Adam stopped typing.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"He's Pan here.  Not the Piper."  But already, Elfie was replying...</p><p>
  <em>"I can show you many wonders," she told Boo.  "Pan's Temple is a beautiful place.  A world within a world.  The best world of all."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I want to see Pan the Piper," Boo said stubbornly.  "I'm a friend of Fizzle."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elfie pouted.</em>
</p><p>"This is Ruth's friend?" Mac said.  "Is she real or not?"</p><p>"Maybe not - but I guess she seemed real enough to Jason," Lindsay offered slowly.  "He's a five year old boy, remember?  Spiderman is real to him, and Santa Claus...  Think of all the things <em>you</em> believed in, when you were five.  I mean..."  She faltered, clearly wondering if she had crossed a line, but Mac nodded.</p><p>"I understand that.  But this...  You're talking to her - and she's answering, just like a real person."</p><p>"It's all about choices," Adam said.  "Well, no, that's putting it simply.  Okay, think about cold-callers, Boss... you know, the ones who try and sell you stuff over the phone?  They've got a script, right, but you're the unpredictable element.  Whatever you say, they have to adapt.  The script is fluid - it's the same kind of deal here.  You'd be amazed at what can be done with programming these days."</p><p>"Game theory," Mac said.  "The study of interaction.  I'm aware of it, but I had no idea it could go so far."  He shook his head.  "The three of us can't say for sure, and we're adults.  What if Ruth believed in Elfie, just like Jason does?  Am I the only one who finds that disturbing?  If this really is the Piper's game, then it's a spider's web of manipulation."  He cast a glance towards his office.</p><p>"Some kids are desperate to believe," Adam whispered, staring at the screen.</p><p>"And that's what makes them vulnerable."  Lindsay's voice was low as well.</p><p>They fell into silence as the bright world took on a darker cast.  Adam stared at the green-eyed jester, who was waiting for his next response, bobbing up and down on the tips of her little toes.  <em>Waiting to pull me in deeper,</em> he thought with a shudder.  <em>And I have to let her do it.</em></p><p>His fingers returned to the keyboard...</p><p>
  <em>"I want to see Pan," Boo repeated.  "That's why I came here."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Pan lives underneath the Mountain, past the Old Town and the River That Swallows The Night," Elfie said.  "I can take you there.  But first, you must answer his question correctly."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Tell me the question."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elfie spun round on the spot once more.  The long tails of her cap flew out and her tiny bells jingled.  Settling back into stillness, she clasped her hands together and stared at him solemnly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What makes you happy?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Boo froze...</em>
</p><p>"That's a peculiar question," Lindsay said.</p><p>"I know."  Adam frowned.  "How can there be a right answer to something so personal?"</p><p>"Think like a child," Mac suggested...</p><p>
  <em>Boo the cat-boy listened to the high refrain.  "Music makes me happy," he said at last.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elfie shook her head, full of regret.  "I'm sorry, Boo.  That's the wrong answer.  You may try again, if you wish - or you may leave this place..."</em>
</p><p>"Try again!"  Lindsay was adamant.  "Come on, Adam; you can do this.  I know it.  You've got us this far.  We're almost there."</p><p>"No pressure, then," he sighed, unable to look at his boss.  He could <em>feel</em> the man sitting beside him.  "Thank you.  Any suggestions?"</p><p>"Family," Lindsay said promptly.  Envy touched Adam's heart with its cold fingers.</p><p>"Knowledge," Mac supplied.  "Ruth's a clever girl.  That could have been her answer..."</p><p>
  <em>Boo stood before the little jester.  Every solution he tried was a failure.  "I'm sorry, Boo," Elfie kept repeating; ten times; twenty times.  Her green eyes were wide and sorrowful.  "That's the wrong answer.  You may try again..."</em>
</p><p>"Dammit," Adam swore at last, frustrated beyond measure.  He paused the game with an angry gesture and turned to Mac.  "I can't do it.  I'm sorry, Boss.  Really, I am..."  Mac's unreadable eyes stared back at him.  <em>What do I look like,</em> Adam wondered mournfully.  He had been sitting in front of the screen for so long that he wouldn't be surprised to find he had melded with the chair.  He was drained and exhausted - and, above all, far too emotional.  "I'll keep trying, though.  I know how important this is, okay?  I won't let you down.  I can stay here as long as it takes..."</p><p>"No," Mac told him.  "No.  That's enough, Adam.  Go home - and sleep this time."  He gave an understanding smile that caught Adam by surprise.  "Who knows?  Maybe you'll dream the answer?"</p><p>"I'll keep thinking too," Lindsay promised him.  "We'll try again in the morning."</p><p>In the morning.  "What about the children?" Adam sighed, his heart thumping painfully.  <em>Too much caffeine,</em> he lied to himself.  "It's night time.  What if he takes someone else?"</p><p>Once again, Mac's gaze strayed through the glass, towards his office.</p><p>"If he does, Adam, that's on <em>him</em>.  Not you, or me, or Lindsay, or Agent Darrow.  None of us."</p><p><em>You don't believe that,</em> Adam thought, with unexpected insight.  Even in his weary state, he knew better than to say it out loud.  Ducking his head, he nodded quietly.  "Yes, Boss."</p><p>"And Adam?"</p><p>"Yes, Boss?"</p><p>"Don't even think about playing the game when you get home..."</p><p><em>I wouldn't!  I promised!</em> Adam protested in his head, trying to squash the separate voice that replied: <em>are you sure about that?</em>  "Yes, Boss," was all he said to Mac, as he saved the game and left Aurora, causing Elfie and her world to fall into darkness once more.</p><p><em>I won't play the game,</em> he decided.  <em>But I won't stop thinking about the question either.</em></p><p>What made him happy when he was a child?  Adam knew.  He knew; but how could he tell <em>them</em> his own secret answer?</p><p>Besides, that <em>couldn't</em> be it.  Not something so brutally honest.</p><p>"I'll work it out if it kills me," he murmured, as he left his colleagues and made his way to the locker room.</p><p>Lost in his own thoughts, he headed for home.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>The situation was distressing.</p><p>Thomas stared at the wretched figure in front of him.  All he wanted was to draw Adam into his arms and hold him close until the sobbing died away.  It should have been that simple - a natural human reaction to distress - yet Thomas was bound and gagged by the rules of society.  Grown men shouldn't hug little boys.  But here was a boy who needed him, and what had society done for the poor child so far?</p><p>"I'm not angry," Thomas said.  "Not at you; I promise.  Please stop crying."  He felt useless, and so afraid.  The world was spinning around this moment - and where would it stop?  Only he could decide; a drunken fool with so many flaws of his own that he was the last person who should be facing this dilemma.</p><p>"I... I... I can't."  Adam's reply was more of a hiccup than a sentence as he dropped his head in confusion.  The movement seemed to hurt him even more and he squeezed his fingernails into the palms of his hands; pain to drive away pain.</p><p>Thomas pushed against his bonds and felt them give, just a little.  "Come inside," he said.  He rose, expecting the boy to follow.  "Don't you want to?  It's okay, Adam.  You can trust me."</p><p>"I know."  The pale face that lifted to stare at him almost shattered his heart.  "I just... my feet hurt."  He flinched as he spoke the words.  "I was running."</p><p>"Adam, where are your shoes?" Thomas asked him, full of horror.  "Don't tell me you came all this way without them?"</p><p><em>Yes,</em> said the wide blue eyes.</p><p>Crouching down, Thomas studied the bare soles of Adam's feet, which were filthy and covered in scratches.  Here in the darkness, it was difficult to tell how badly he had damaged them.</p><p>There was only one thing for it.</p><p>Thomas turned his back on society altogether and lifted Adam from the ground.  "Oh!" the little boy cried as he swung through the air.</p><p>"Am I hurting you?"</p><p>"Yes," Adam said, "but it's okay, Mister Thomas."</p><p>"Brave boy."  Thomas strode across the grass, trying to keep his movements steady.  The last thing he wanted was to make things worse.  Passing through the back door, he headed for the spare room, where he kept an old sofa bed, unmade and still in the guise of an ordinary couch.  There, he laid Adam down and watched him roll onto his front.  "It's your back that's bad," he said.  "Isn't it?"</p><p>"Mostly," Adam whispered into the cushion that Thomas had meant for a pillow.</p><p>Mostly.  <em>God help me, </em>Thomas thought.  <em>What do I do now?  </em>"I'm going to call for an ambulance," he decided.</p><p>Adam grew rigid, a child on the edge of panic.  "No!  No, don't!"</p><p>"But, Adam..."</p><p>"No!  No, you can't.  You said... you said I could trust you.  I want to stay here.  Please, Thomas.  Please, please, please..."  Over and over he begged until Thomas was forced to agree, just to calm him down.  By now, Adam was sitting bolt upright in spite of the pain, his face flushed and his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Thomas' upper arms.  "Oh," he sighed, wilting.  He peeled his fingers away, looking stricken.  "I'm sorry!"</p><p>"New rule," Thomas said, easing him down again. "No more apologies."  There would be ten little bruises on his arms by morning.  Adam had squeezed so hard that, even now, Thomas could feel the boy's grip; ghost-fingers, holding him to his word.</p><p>He reached out and pressed his palm against Adam's forehead.  "You're too hot," he said.  "I'm going to get a wet cloth.  Then..."  He swallowed.  "Then we'll take a look at you, okay?"</p><p>"Okay."  Adam's voice was drowsy.  He felt safe enough to sleep now, Thomas could tell.  As the boy drifted off, right there on his couch, a pitiful speck of humanity, Thomas felt sick with the weight of the promise he had just made - and the knowledge that, sooner or later, he was going to have to break it.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>The early morning mist was burning away.  High above the park, the sky was clear and impossibly blue, like a picture postcard.  Cotton candy threads lingered over Conservatory Water, where the coolness of the boating lake met the warmth of the sun.  Danny lifted his camera - a working prop - and took a casual photograph.  <em>Got to stay in character,</em> he thought... but damn, those clouds looked good enough to eat.  A faint, elusive fairground jingle played in his head and he could almost smell the strands of sugar as they spun around the tub...</p><p>"Snap out of it, Messer," he groaned to himself, and strolled on past the lake to the nearby circle of benches.</p><p>A voice crackled in his ear.  "You say somethin'?"</p><p>"I'm a little hungry, is all.  Feels like breakfast was hours ago.  No, wait - that's right.  It <em>was</em>."</p><p>"Tell me about it."  Don Flack sounded out of breath and Danny chuckled.  The three of them had drawn lots back at the precinct, and the lanky detective had picked 'jogging enthusiast', much to his disgust.</p><p>"Guys, it's only nine o' clock.  You shouldn't be hungry.  Not if you had a nutritional start to the day, like I did."  Sheldon Hawkes was sitting near the statue, close to Volker's position.  There was a tangle of young children climbing all over Alice and her companions; hugging the White Rabbit; trying to swing on the Cheshire Cat's tail; talking to the Dormouse; crawling underneath the mushrooms and sliding off the largest one.  They squeaked and chattered noisily, like sparrows in a hedge.  One of them <em>could </em>have been his.  A poor disguise, but the venue was a tricky one.</p><p><em>This Piper's no fool,</em> Danny thought with displeasure.  Saturday morning in Central Park, near a kids' attraction?  <em>Good for him - bad for us.</em>  He kept his concerns to himself, however.  Dr. Sheldon Hawkes was still a rookie when it came to this kind of action.  <em>Any </em>action, in fact.  The last thing Danny wanted was to spook him.  The ripple effect of Sheldon's nerves could be disastrous.  As it was, right now, he seemed cool as a cucumber.</p><p>
  <em>Food again...</em>
</p><p>"Hey, I'm an energetic guy," Danny told the doctor, knowing full well that Flack was listening in as well, from his position at a nearby cross-section, where he had bent down to 'tie up his shoelace'.  "I need sustenance on a regular basis."</p><p>"Sustenance?  Big word.  You swallow a dictionary?"  Sheldon appeared to be enjoying the banter that flew between the three of them.  It was an easy way to pass the time.</p><p>"Keep up the insults and I'm gonna make you eat <em>your</em> words," Danny countered.</p><p>"Oh, that's good.  Real good."  Don straightened up and jogged on the spot, preparing to repeat his narrow circuit.  It would be unwise to stray too far, but four men simply couldn't hang around the statue without setting off alarm bells.  Already, a young woman with a toddler had moved away from her original seat and was casting sharp glances at the doctor from her new position on the other side of the circle.</p><p>"Hey - she's doing it again," Sheldon complained to Danny, in a whisper.</p><p>"Probably thinks you look dodgy," he smirked.  "How's Volker holding up?"</p><p>"You concerned about that lying piece of garbage?" Flack muttered.  "Damn straight you should be."</p><p>"Don't worry.  I'll keep an <em>eye</em> on him."  Sheldon's delivery was so smooth, even Danny missed it for a moment.</p><p>"Niiiice," he said, with open admiration.</p><p>Don Flack was less than impressed.  Right now, the bruise around his eye was hidden beneath several layers of 'girly' make-up, as Danny liked to call it.  "Guess you're rubbin' off on this one, Messer.  He's pickin' up all your bad habits."</p><p>"Yeah, yeah..."  Time to change the subject.  Just like the White Rabbit, Danny stole a sly look at his watch.  "You know, he's late.  Our Mr. Piper, I mean."</p><p>"Yeah, I noticed that too."  Flack sighed.  "You think he got wind of Volker's arrest after all?"</p><p>The felon in question was lounging on a separate bench, beneath the fluttering leaves of a sycamore tree.  His angelic face was turned to the sky and he breathed in the fresh air with deep satisfaction.  Now and then, his gaze slid off towards Detective Flack, and a tiny little smile tugged at the corner of his lips.  "Nice day, isn't it?" he said to a passing mother with a double pram.  She paused and nodded, liking the look of the genial man.</p><p>"Is this it?" Danny hissed.  Not what he was expecting but, then, you never knew...</p><p>The woman exchanged a few quiet pleasantries with Volker and moved on.</p><p>"No, it isn't," Flack growled.  "Wish I was closer.  I'd give him such a smack upside the head..."</p><p>"I think you might be taking this a little too personally."  Danny took another snapshot of the scenery, just to hide his grin.</p><p>A line of teenagers poured into the circle on scooters, spinning round and round the statue as they traded insults back and forth - <em>just like us,</em> Danny thought, feeling juvenile all of a sudden.  One boy rolled his front wheel over Volker's outstretched foot.  When the man cried out in pain, the young teen stopped to apologise.  Several of his friends skidded to a halt beside him.</p><p>The hairs on the back of Danny's neck rose up.</p><p>"Somethin' hinky goin' on here," Flack muttered in his ear.  "Doc, can you see...?"</p><p>Too late.  With a flurry of limbs, Volker leapt up from his seat and vaulted over the bench, clearing the bushes and landing on the lawn beyond.  As soon as he hit the ground, he broke into a run, ploughing through a second bush.  Leaves flew in all directions.  "You have <em>got</em> to be kiddin' me," Flack groaned.  "Hawkes, grab that kid.  Don't you let him leave.  Messer - with me."</p><p>No need to ask him twice.  Danny followed Volker with his eyes until the fleeing suspect reached a fork in the path.  "Got it," he muttered, as Volker spun on his heels, doubled back and raced towards the lake.  Behind him, Flack was having trouble with a group of 'fellow' joggers.</p><p>"Clear the way!" he yelled.  "NYPD. <em> Move</em> it!"</p><p>Danny held the left side of the lake, calling in the chase as he ran.  Volker headed for the right.  The two men raced in parallel; Danny straining to reach the south end before his target did.  That would leave Volker trapped between the Devil and the deep blue sea - <em>no, make that the CSI and the pissed-off detective,</em> Danny grinned.  "Come on, Flack," he panted.  "You don't want to let this jerk be the one who got away."</p><p>Flack didn't bother to reply.  All his energy was being poured into his feet, which slammed against the tarmac at breakneck speed.  His running style was part quarterback, part charging rhinoceros.  Head down, long limbs pounding, he had one goal in his sight and everyone else on the path had no choice but to leap out of his way as quickly as possible.</p><p>Volker glanced back and a look of blind panic flashed across his face.  Danny almost pitied him.  In his fear, he tried to leave the lake, veering onto a side path - but Flack was upon him.  They crashed together... and rolled... and fell, straight into Conservatory Water.</p><p>Danny kept on running and rounded the south end, sprinting quickly until he reached the spot where Flack and Volker were thrashing about, in a tangle of splashing limbs.</p><p>Nearby, a crowd was gathering, curious in the extreme.  No one seemed very willing to break up the fight.  They were far more interested in the loose bills floating across the surface like confetti.  Volker saw them too, and groaned out loud.  "My money!"</p><p>"Shut up!"  Flack hooked one leg behind Volker's knee and brought him down at last, into the shallow water, where he struggled to rise again, spitting and shaking his wet hair.  Drops flew everywhere.  "I'd read you your rights," the detective continued, "but hey - been there, done that."  He yanked Volker to his feet and pushed him out of the lake.</p><p>"Volker," Danny said pleasantly, as he cuffed him.</p><p>"Detective Messer," the young man replied, with a nod of his dripping head.</p><p>Flack rose from the water to a ripple of applause.  "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled.  His make-up had all but washed away, revealing the dark ring around his eye.  He looked weary - and smug.  "That's the last bath you'll be havin' in a long time, Eric," he said, "so I hope you enjoyed it.  They only got showers at Rikers - oh wait, you know that, right?"</p><p>"Suits me," Volker said, trying hard to recover his dignity as the puddle around his feet grew larger.</p><p>A couple of local officers appeared on the scene, alerted by Danny's call.  They drove back the crowd, who were starting to drift towards the edge of the water.</p><p>"Why did you run?" Danny asked his captive.  "We had a deal."</p><p>Volker shrugged and stared at the sodden paper floating out across the lake.  "Got my payment.  Took my chance.  Call it a character flaw, if you like."  He offered Flack an apologetic smile.</p><p>"You got paid...  You mean the kid?"</p><p>"Mm hmm."  Volker nodded.  "Believe me, gentlemen, I was just as surprised as you are.  Takes a cold man to make a child do his dirty work, don't you think?"</p><p>Both detectives turned and stared back in the direction of the Alice in Wonderland statue which was hidden amongst the greenery.</p><p>"Hey, Hawkes," Danny said slowly, feeling a sudden chill even though he was dry as a bone.  "You still there?  We're on our way..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>"I saw what you did."</p><p>The other kids had fled but Sheldon held this one by the arm; a skinny boy with jet black hair that was pale at the roots.</p><p>"You saw nothin', creep," the young Goth replied.  "Gerroff me.  Help," he added in a louder voice.  "Hey, lady, help me.  I'm bein' assaulted, okay?  Call the cops."</p><p>"I am the cops," Sheldon said patiently.  "I mean, I'm a CSI.  I need to speak with you."</p><p>"CSI?  What's that?"  The boy was insolent to say the least.  Around them both, a small group of women began to gather, led by the suspicious mother who had been eyeing him earlier.  Meanwhile, the children on the statue had fallen silent.  Some of them had vanished altogether, drawn away by their parents at the first sign of trouble.  Their absence was unnerving and Sheldon began to see the peril of his situation.</p><p>"I'm a crime scene investigator," he explained to the boy, projecting his voice so that the posse of mothers could hear him as well.</p><p>"Never heard of it.  This ain't no crime scene.  Get <em>off</em> me."  The boy tried to pull away.  Sheldon clung tightly to the sleeve of his hoodie, wondering just how far he should let things go.  Detective Flack had been adamant - <em>don't let the kid leave.</em>  Easy to say, but the wait was turning out to be an uncomfortable one.  The faces around him were hostile, and his only allies were currently running in the opposite direction.</p><p>Sheldon fished out his badge with his free hand and held it up in the air for all to see.  A murmur escaped from the crowd and two or three women began to retreat.  The boy looked miserable.  "You sure that thing's real?" he demanded, trying to save face, but none of his friends were around to cheer him on and, all at once, he crumbled.  "Fine.  So, what?"</p><p><em>Good enough,</em> Sheldon thought.  "I saw you," he repeated.  "Passing a package to Volker."</p><p>"Who's Volker?"</p><p>"Who's...?  Come on, you know full well.  The guy on the bench.  The one whose foot you flattened, right before you threw a big brown envelope into his lap.  Now, you don't look like a master criminal, unless I'm very much mistaken.  So, I'm asking - who gave you the money?"</p><p>"Whoa!  There was money in there?"  For a moment, the boy sounded crestfallen.  "Wish I'd known."</p><p>Danny's voice buzzed in Sheldon's ear, confirming their imminent return.  "Where did you get it?" the doctor pressed, determined to have his answer before the cavalry arrived.  All of the mothers had drifted beyond the statue by now, although Sharp Face was still lingering nearby, unwilling to leave the scene of such an interesting drama.  Something to share with her friends at the next opportunity...</p><p>"Okay, okay," said the boy.  "Some dude stopped me."</p><p>"Some <em>dude</em>?"</p><p>"An old guy.  Not like grandpa old but, you know, like <em>you</em>."</p><p>Sheldon tried and failed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.  "So, an adult, then?"</p><p>"Yeah..."  The boy pulled a face.  "He said, did I want to earn some money?  I said, sure.  He gave me a hundred and showed me a picture of the other dude..."  Sheldon frowned.  "Oh, come on.  The guy on the bench; who else?"</p><p>"Then he gave you the package?"</p><p>"Yeah.  All I had to do was pass it on - look, I ain't no criminal.  I'm just a kid."</p><p>"Tell that to my colleagues," Sheldon said.  "By the way - they're <em>real </em>cops.  What did the first dude look like?  And don't say <em>old,</em>" he added, by way of a warning.</p><p>"I dunno.  Brown hair, to his shoulders.  Weird eyes; kinda grey.  He talked funny.  That's all, I swear.  Can I <em>go</em> now?"  He wriggled in Sheldon's grip as they waited together.</p><p>At long last, a curious squelching noise heralded the arrival of Flack and Danny, with Volker pinned between them.  Sharp Face stared.  So did Sheldon.  "You're all wet."</p><p>"Ten out of ten for observation; thank you, Doc.  Our vampire friend here say anything useful?"  Clearly, the soaking had done little to improve Flack's disposition.  Sheldon itched to get Danny alone and find out what had happened, though he had a pretty good idea.  Flack and Volker, both wet - it didn't take a genius to add a boating lake to that equation and come up with a logical solution.  Sheldon grinned.</p><p>"As a matter of fact, I did."  Ticking off the attributes on his fingers, he continued.  "Long brown hair.  Grey eyes.  That matches the photo of Richard Allan that Agent Darrow gave to Mac.  We'll need a positive ID to prove it, of course, but I'm willing to bet that Allan gave this kid the money and sent him to deliver it.  He was right here in Central Park - still might be, for all we know.  He's our Piper, Flack, and we've got a witness."</p><p>"To a money drop," Danny said thoughtfully.  "Anything else is circumstantial."</p><p>"But we're closer, right?"</p><p>With a gloved hand, Danny held up a torn brown envelope that Sheldon recognised at once.  "Oh yes," the detective said, and he smiled at last.  "We're closer..."</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Adam was having a wonderful time.</p><p>The sun was blazing in the sky and everyone was outside, even Mary.  Daddy had turned on the hose and he was spraying his children with water as they ran in crazy circles, giggling hysterically.  Ice cold drops on red hot skin made Adam shiver, but he loved it.  "Over here," he yelled.  "Daddy, get me!  Daddy, Daddy!"</p><p>The hose turned in his direction and a full jet hit him in the back with unexpected force.  Adam tumbled to the ground, screaming in delight.  He was soaked to the skin, and it felt so good.  He tore off his sodden t-shirt, letting the sun warm his bare back.  Lying on his front, he breathed in the smell of the baking soil and felt the dry grass crackle beneath him.  It tickled his nose, like a wandering bug.</p><p><em>Maybe I'll just lie here for a while, </em>Adam thought, feeling peaceful and contented.</p><p>Then a shadow fell across him and the world turned grey.</p><p>"Ow!" he squeaked, as more drops of water landed on his back.  Their sting was vicious and he tried to roll away, but something was pinning him down.  Things had gone wrong so quickly that he didn't understand what was happening.  "I don't like it," Adam sobbed.</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>He turned his head to see who it was that had spoken... and everything changed.  The sun faded, as did the blue sky.  Even Daddy was gone.  Instead, a familiar figure knelt behind him, with a look on his face that made Adam feel very frightened.  "Sorry," the man repeated.  "I'm doing my best, Adam.  I don't really know..."  He faltered.</p><p>"Thomas?" Adam whispered.</p><p>"Yes, it's me."</p><p>"I'm all wet."  Now that he was fully awake, he recognised the dream for what it was - yet somehow the water remained.</p><p>Thomas gave a husky laugh that didn't match the expression in his eyes.  "Yes, you are."  He held up a dripping cloth for Adam to see.  "My fault, I'm afraid.  I thought it might help.  Your back..."  Once again, he let the sentence die away.  "It's sore," he offered at last.</p><p>"I know," Adam said helpfully.  "I'm inside it."</p><p>Thomas looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn't bring his mouth to make the words.  Adam knew how that felt and gave him an encouraging smile.  He tried to twist so that he was facing his friend, but the movement hurt too much and he flopped back down onto his stomach.</p><p>"Adam, who did this to you?"</p><p>There it was; the question he had been dreading.  Adam stiffened.  He didn't want to lie to Thomas.  But if he told the truth - why Momma had left and how Daddy had punished him - well, then Thomas would know what a bad boy he had let into his house.  And then it would all be over.</p><p>"Okay," Thomas said quietly, breaking the long silence.  He seemed much calmer now.  "Let's play this a different way.  I'm going to talk instead.  You don't have to say anything, if you don't want to."</p><p>Pressing his lips together, Adam gave a tiny nod.</p><p>Thomas held the wet cloth to his back again, making him twitch.  "I've seen this before," he murmured as the coolness spread through Adam's skin and doused the fire.  "The lines are clean... that's a strap or a belt, not a fist.  I count ten blows at least.  And there are other marks too; older ones...  Not that brother of yours - he doesn't look strong enough.  Your father..."</p><p>"Stop!" Adam cried.  Shame sent him burrowing head first into the cushion, so deep that he could barely breathe.</p><p>Long fingers curled around his shoulder.  Adam's whole body trembled.  Now he was in for it.  Now it would come.  He had made such a bad mistake and it was time to pay.  He lifted his head.  "Please," he whispered.  "Please don't..."</p><p>The hand flew back, releasing him.  "Oh my God."  Thomas was stunned.  "Surely you didn't think...?  Oh, for pity's sake, Adam, I'm not going to hurt you.  Are you...?  Are you afraid of me?"</p><p>"I don't know."  He was utterly confused - and tired; so very tired.  "I... no.  Yes..."</p><p>"Adam, listen to me.  I'm going to say this as clearly as I can, because it's important that you understand.  No harm will come to you as long as you are in this house.  Do you believe me?"</p><p>"Y-yes."</p><p>"Okay then."  Thomas paused.  When he spoke again, his voice was soft.  "You're not to blame for any of this.  You know that, don't you?"</p><p>Adam shook his head.  "I ran away," he said.  "Twice now.  And Momma's gone."</p><p>"You're not to blame."  Thomas repeated it grimly.</p><p>"But Daddy..."</p><p>"Yes, Daddy.  I thought as much."</p><p>Adam couldn't stop himself.  He couldn't hold the words back anymore.  "Daddy says I'm soft.  He says I'm a bad boy.  That's why Momma keeps going away.  That's why they shout at each other all the time.  And Charlie..."</p><p>"Yes?" said Thomas, prompting him.  "Charlie - your brother?"</p><p>"He says I don't b'long.  They've got him, so they don't need me."  Adam shook his head.  "And sometimes...  What you said before, when we met - Charlie says that about me too.  He says I was swapped.  The fairies took Momma's real boy away when he was born, and they left me instead.  Charlie says that's why I'm different.  I don't believe him, okay, not ezackly - fairies aren't real - but I know why he says it.  I don't b'long and no... no... nobody cares about me."  Caught up in the surge of his own emotion, Adam buried his face in the cushion again.  Tears leaked from his eyes and spread out through the fabric.</p><p>"Nobody cares."  Thomas echoed the phrase in a thoughtful manner.  "Not your Momma?"</p><p>Momma was an angel with glowing hair and a soft lap.  Adam loved her, but...  "Momma left," he insisted, lifting his head as he spoke.</p><p>Thomas nodded.  "So she did.  Running away - that's never an easy choice, is it?  You said they argue a lot?  Your parents?"</p><p>"Yes.  About me, mostly."</p><p>"So then, they don't agree?"</p><p>"No..."</p><p>"And whose side is Momma on?"</p><p>Adam began to fidget.  He scrubbed at his face with a clumsy fist.  A strange kind of guilt was burning inside him, like a candle in the darkness.  "Mine," he whispered.  "Always."</p><p>Thomas reached out and pressed the damp cloth against Adam's forehead, cooling it.  "Yours," he agreed gently.</p><p>Puzzling over a truth that was old and yet, somehow, brand new, the boy felt his whole world start to shift, ever so slightly...</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Adam pretended to squint at the screen.  As he did so, he peered through his lashes at the quiet man who sat beside him.</p><p>Half past nine in the morning - and already, his day was shaping up to be <em>very</em> disconcerting.</p><p>"What are you thinking?" Agent Darrow asked him, leaning in as well.</p><p>"Oh!  Um, no...  I was just..."  He floundered hopelessly.  <em>I was just staring at you...</em>  "Are you sure you really want to be here?  This could take a long time, okay; a long, <em>long</em> time, and I thought you'd want to be where the action is.  Like, you know, Central Park."</p><p>Darrow turned and fixed him with those pale eyes of his.</p><p>"Did I cross a line there?" Adam blurted out.  "I crossed a line - I'm sorry.  I'll be shutting up now."</p><p>"Jumpy, aren't you?"  The agent gave a bark of laughter that was highly unexpected.</p><p>Adam grinned back shyly.  "Noticed that, did you?" he countered.  Laughter - that meant a sense of humour, right?  <em>I hope so...</em></p><p>"It's my FBI training," Darrow said.  "I'm very perceptive."</p><p>They studied each other in silence for a moment.  "Why <em>did</em> you choose to help me today?" Adam asked him, full of curiosity.  "I mean, you know, I'm flattered, but... well, Central Park or the AV lab - surely there's no comparison?"</p><p>"I've seen Central Park already."  Darrow shrugged.  "And I trust Detective Taylor's judgement.  His men know how to work together.  They don't need some outsider tagging along, throwing everything off balance.  Besides, Allan knows me<em>.</em>  If he saw my face in the Park, it could spook him and ruin the whole thing.  Not to mention the matter of... well, let's just call it a legal impediment."</p><p>Adam frowned, trying to follow his meaning.  "Oh!" he said.  "Restraining order?"</p><p>"Jumpy <em>and</em> smart."  Darrow gave a slow nod as he pointed at the screen.  "Now this, on the other hand - this is something new.  You may not realise it, son, but you could take me closer to my goal than I've ever been before."</p><p>"I..."  Adam faltered.  "Look, I seem to be on a roll here, so I'm going to ask you another impertinent question, okay?  You work for the <em>FBI</em>."  He spoke the name with awe.</p><p>"Is that a question?" Darrow said solemnly.</p><p>"Yes.  No.  I'm just saying..."</p><p>"You want to know why we failed."</p><p>"Um... 'failed' is a strong word..."  Now Adam really did think that he might have gone too far, but Darrow hastened to reassure him.</p><p>"You were at the meeting early this morning," he began.  "Were you paying attention?"  Adam nodded, folding his hands together in a classic listening pose.  His memory was good and he had absorbed every detail of Mac's careful summary.  The flash drive held a wealth of information - already, Stella and Lindsay were starting to dig deeper into the evidence - but so far, only two recurring factors linked all the children on Darrow's list.  They came from troubled homes and each one had left in the middle of the night, of their own accord, stepping into a car that had subsequently vanished.  Across five states - Michigan, Ohio, West Virginia, Pennsylvania and New York - the victims ranged all the way from a young boy of ten to a girl of sixteen.  "Runaways; that's the official conclusion of the FBI," Darrow sighed.  "My superiors told me I was grasping at straws.  Building a tower on shaky foundations.  Treading on thin ice."</p><p>"That's a lot of clichés," Adam murmured.  "So they thought you were trying to make all the evidence from the different cases fit your theory?"  <em>Oh, nice one, Adam!  That's right, three days on the job and you've all but accused an FBI agent of evidence tampering.</em></p><p>"Don't get me wrong; I was tempted to help things along.  There, that's my confession."  Darrow gave a weary smile.  "I didn't, of course.  But can you honestly say that you wouldn't feel the same way, in my position?  It can be lonely sometimes...  I promise you, Adam, these cases are linked and one day I'll prove the truth of what I know to be a fact.  Richard Allan is the villain here.  Your Piper, as it turns out.  Thank you for that, by the way," he said quietly.</p><p>"I had the laptop," Adam said, flushing with pride.  "You know, so it was an easy jump.  Ruth Eggar did all the work for me, really."</p><p>Darrow reached out and tapped a scruffy pile of paper on the desk.  "<em>All</em> the work?  Really?"</p><p>"Oh, that."  Pulling a face, Adam made a small confession of his own.  "Well, see, I had to do <em>something</em> last night.  Mac told me not to play the game at home - but we were so <em>close</em>! "  He squeezed his hands together tightly, one fist over the other.  "I couldn't even trust myself to turn my computer <em>on</em>...  Let's just say that self-control isn't one of my virtues, okay?  Instead, I tried to think of every possible answer to the riddle, from a child's point of view.  That's the list..."</p><p>"How long?" the agent asked him simply.</p><p>"Three hours.  Over a hundred possible answers."  Adam winced.  "I didn't get much sleep.  But this is important, right?  Just like you said."</p><p>"It is."  Darrow rose to his feet.  "Suddenly, I find myself very much in need of coffee," he continued.  "I had a bad night too, as it happens, and if we have to work through more than a hundred answers...  Look, what I'm trying to say is, may I bring you something, Adam?"</p><p>"I don' t think we're supposed to...  Not in the lab itself."  Adam peered over the top of the screen but Mac's office was empty.  "I could do with the boost," he admitted.  "Black, no sugar."  He could always step out and drink it in the corridor if the Boss Man returned.</p><p>Darrow left for the break room and Adam went back to his puzzle.  Thirty eight guesses were crossed out already; a gloomy coincidence.  He was starting to hate Simple Elfie and her programmed response.  <em>"I'm sorry, Boo.  That's the wrong answer.  You may try again if you wish..."</em></p><p>"Of course I wish," he muttered.  "It's only my job on the line, after all."  No, wait - that was selfish.  This wasn't about his job, or even his pride.  Thirty eight children...  Adam felt a surge of anger pushing at him from within.  <em>Stop hiding, you coward,</em> he told himself fiercely.  <em>You know what to do.  You had the answer yesterday - you're just afraid to try it.  Afraid they'll find out.  Trust your instinct.  What have you got to lose?  No one's watching...</em></p><p>He shoved the list away and reached for the keyboard.</p><p>
  <em>"What makes you happy?" said Elfie.  Boo hesitated.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"A day without pain," he replied.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elfie nodded.  "I understand," she said - and the world spun around them.  When it settled down again, they were standing on the bank of a dark river.  High above them rose the wall of a medieval town...</em>
</p><p>Adam leapt to his feet.  "Mac," he cried.  "Agent Darrow!  Somebody, quick!  I did it!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Sunrise was particularly beautiful that morning.  Sitting on the back step with a mug of tea cradled in his hands, and his long legs stretched out in front of him, Thomas let his mind fill with music as golden fire spread across the skyline.  Grieg's 'Peer Gynt' was part of the soundtrack of his life, and had been for many years, linking itself to some of his happiest memories.  Today, it felt different.  There was a sadness in the dawn that turned the old familiar theme into something far more plaintive.  From now on, Thomas knew, that piece of music would always bring him straight back here.</p><p>And what would he remember?</p><p>There was a boy sleeping on his couch; a boy who had come to him for help, in perfect trust, believing 'Mister Thomas' to be the hero of this strange, unhappy tale that was his life.  "My life too, now," Thomas sighed.  Like it or not, their two worlds had collided.  "Which is all well and good, but what am I supposed to do about it?  I'm no hero," he protested to the golden sky.  "Here I am in hiding, half a world away from my own past.  I can't even fix that.  How am I meant to fix this?"</p><p>The sky, of course, said nothing but waited for Thomas to reach his own conclusion.  In his head, the music ended.  Silence filled the garden.</p><p>Raising his mug and draining it completely, Thomas let his eyes rest on the blowsy bougainvillea that had sheltered his unexpected guest.  "It should have been a gooseberry bush," he joked to himself, but there was no real humour in the remark and suddenly he felt uncomfortable.  What kind of sick kid tried to convince his little brother that he was a changeling boy?</p><p>"Mind you," he murmured, "if I was in Adam's place and someone told me that, I think I'd be relieved."  Instead, this intelligent boy had struggled on, day after day, until fate and his own determination had brought him all the way to... what, exactly?  "To a bush in my back garden.  Wonderful."</p><p>Thomas rose to his feet and stretched his aching legs.  Leaving his mug on the step, he wandered out across the patchy lawn.  There was no smell of 'green' here.  Sometimes, the lack of it made him want to cry, but he had no skill to recreate it in this dusty climate.  Everything was pale and dry - except for Adam's bush.</p><p>The petals were silk in his hand as he reached out and touched them.  <em>So delicate,</em> he thought.  One squeeze of his fist and that would be an end to their perfection.</p><p>One false act that could not be undone.</p><p>"It's too hard," he whispered, hanging his head, as his thoughts returned to the child lying fast asleep in his spare room.  "I'm not the right person.  I don't want to go through this again."</p><p>Behind the long, drooping arms of the bush, with their heavy pink flowers, Thomas caught sight of a creature that didn't belong.  A sad little bundle of fluff, with green button eyes.  "Let me guess," he said to the toy, as he bent down and picked him up.  "Another stray.  I think I know someone who'll be pleased to see you, little cat."</p><p>The creature's green-eyed stare was very disconcerting.  The proof of Adam's love for him was in the state of his fur, which was almost worn away in the places where a child's hand would hold him tightly - around his skinny paws and at the end of his tail.  His ears had been sucked into twisted points and his nose had lost all of its stuffing, so that it sagged downwards, making the poor cat look quite melancholy.  He also bore signs of frequent mending.</p><p>Thomas raised the cat and hugged him to his chest.</p><p>"You're Adam's friend," he said.  "Aren't you?  So am I."</p><p>And there was his answer after all.</p><p>In the sky, the golden sun had finally claimed the day - or so it seemed to Thomas, as his new sense of resolution found an echo up above.  The path ahead was still unclear but one thing he knew in his heart.  It was Adam who mattered right now; only Adam.  A lost boy, sent to him by that unlikely twist of fate.</p><p>A chance to make amends.</p><p>"This time," Thomas vowed to the button-eyed cat, "I won't let anyone down..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Too many words.  Too much information.  Stella paused to rub her eyes and caught sight of Lindsay frowning at her own computer screen.  "Found something?" she asked the young woman hopefully.</p><p>"Not really."  Lindsay shrugged.  "I was just thinking... this Allan guy reminds me of my Uncle Mal."</p><p>"Are you saying your uncle's a criminal mastermind?"</p><p>Grinning at the thought, Lindsay shook her head.  "Well, no - or at least, I don't think so.  He's kind of a mystery, actually.  He lurks on the edge of our family circle and no one ever thinks to include him.  Parties, weddings... even Mom forgot to send him a Christmas card last year, and she's his kid sister!"</p><p>"I see your point."  Stella rose from her seat and came round to Lindsay's desk.  Standing behind her colleague, she scrutinised the candid shot of Richard Allan.  He was sitting on a park bench, feeding the birds with a leftover crust of a sandwich; just another ordinary man.  "He's... forgettable."</p><p>"The ideal trait for a stalker."  Bringing up a new picture, Lindsay gestured to the young girl who appeared on screen.  She, too, was unremarkable except for a dark look in her eyes that made Stella wince.  "Lisa Feeny, fourteen years of age.  According to Mac's timeline, she was Allan's first victim - allegedly.  This was taken at school, three weeks before her disappearance.  Richard Allan lived nearby and, for two years, she claimed he was following her.  Lansing PD looked into it, but there was no proof and, in the end, they dismissed it as 'a quiet kid making a bid for attention'.  That's a direct quote from one of their reports.  Lisa wasn't very popular, it seemed."</p><p>"And her parents?"</p><p>"Perfect - on the surface.  When she disappeared, they were suitably distraught.  The cops questioned Allan for twenty four hours straight, but they had no proof, as his lawyer was quick to point out - and they couldn't find the girl.  So they called in the FBI.  It was Darrow and his team who came to help and Darrow who found her journal, under the mattress."  This time, it was Lindsay's turn to shudder.  "The whole thing is on file.  I skimmed through it..."</p><p>"Bad?" Stella murmured.</p><p>"Bad."  Lindsay gave the word a bitter edge that made it seem far more aggressive.  "Lisa wrote about her home life in vivid detail.  It was enough to condemn both her parents - but Allan's lawyer was sneaky.  He found some inconsistencies - a fantasy that Lisa had constructed, about an invisible friend.  She wrote about their relationship every day for several months, as though she believed it was real.  That gave the lawyer everything he needed to protect his client.  The journal was dismissed - their only evidence - but Darrow hung onto it all the same.  There's a scanned copy here, <em>and</em> a transcript, with notes.  It makes..."  She stared at the girl.  "It makes me think of Ruth and her stories.  I understand why he's driven to help these kids.  Darrow, I mean.  No one else believed in them.  At least now they've got someone on their side."</p><p>"Lindsay."  Stella perched on the edge of the desk and used her colleague's name to claim her attention.  Lindsay dragged her eyes away from Lisa Feeny.</p><p>"I know," she confessed.  "I <em>know</em>, okay, Stella?  I promise I won't get sucked in.  I'm just saying..."</p><p>"You're human.  Which isn't a crime - and I'd be far more concerned if this <em>didn't</em> affect you.  Or me," Stella added, letting the admission slip on purpose.  "But we need to keep a level head."  Her chuckle was unexpected.  "I sound like Mac," she said.</p><p>"You've had this conversation before," Lindsay guessed shrewdly.</p><p>"Many times - and always from the other side.  I understand, believe me.  The more I learn about this case, the more it sickens me.  Darrow's passion may be admirable, Lindsay, but it's also dangerous.  Five long years chasing Allan, and where has it...?"</p><p>All of a sudden, she broke off again.  The agent in question had just bolted out of the break room.  Both women watched, agog, as he raced along the corridor.  Ahead of him, outside the AV lab, a crowd was growing.</p><p>"Did you hear... shouting?" Lindsay ventured.</p><p>Stella nodded, rising to her feet.  "It sounded like..."</p><p>"...Adam!" they finished together.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>One day, Adam swore to himself, he would learn to think before he spoke.  Or before he yelled, for that matter.</p><p>Sadly, today was not that day.</p><p>Swallowing thickly, he watched the small crowd gather, summoned by his eager and unnecessary cry.  Taller by a head, Agent Darrow worked his way inwards with care, thanking each person politely as they moved to let him pass.  Lindsay followed in his wake, together with Stella... and then <em>Mac!</em>  Oh God...  Adam stared at his sneakers and wished for the cold, hard floor to swallow him up altogether before he melted, rather like the Wicked Witch of the West, into a puddle of sweat and embarrassment.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he muttered, addressing his words to the Boss Man.  Eye contact was out of the question - but as he risked a sneaky peek through his lashes, he saw that Mac's own gimlet stare had already sent most of the lab techs scurrying away.  A small mercy, for which Adam was truly thankful.</p><p>"Eureka moment?" Stella said kindly, trying to defuse the situation.  Sensing her intent, Adam felt an impulsive desire to hug her.  Not that he would ever dare to be so bold.  Instead, he offered up a weak smile.</p><p>"Something like that," he confessed in a whisper, hoping she understood how much he appreciated her intervention.  Now that the crowd had dissipated, there were only four people left in the room with him - Darrow, Lindsay, Stella and Mac - but the combined strength of their focus was overwhelming and Adam could feel his throat seizing up.  <em>What are you, seven?</em> he told himself fiercely.  Clenching his fist, he <em>pushed</em> with his mind... and the words got through.  "I found the answer."</p><p>"To the question?" Darrow said, his deep voice ringing with astonishment.</p><p><em>No,</em> Adam thought.  <em>To life, the universe and everything.</em>  "Yes, the question.  Elfie's question, in the game," he added for the benefit of Stella, who was looking bemused.  "The password that'll take me to the Piper."</p><p>"What makes you happy?" Lindsay murmured.</p><p>Adam nodded.</p><p>"No," she said.  "I'm asking.  What was your answer, in the end?"</p><p>"Oh!"  Here was a new problem - worse, by far, than any unexpected crowd.  Adam tried to think quickly.  He could still feel Mac watching him, and Darrow too, with those pale eyes.  "Okay.  Well, I was thinking, see, that the Piper looks for kids who have, um... kind of a difficult home life.  And, you know, maybe the answer has something to do with that.  I don't even think it has to be the same one every time; not exactly.  It's just a sign of their vulnerability."</p><p>"What <em>was</em> your answer?"  Mac echoed Lindsay's words, with a subtle change in emphasis.</p><p>Adam clenched his fists again, secretly, inside his pockets.  He kept his face straight and made his voice as calm as it could be.  "A day without pain."</p><p>Silence.</p><p>"That's clever," Stella said, full of admiration.</p><p>Some of the tension drained from Adam and his fists uncurled, ever so slightly.</p><p>"Yes," said Mac.  "It is.  Good work, Adam."</p><p>"Thank you."  Adam's grin was full of relief.  "Shall I...  Do you want me to keep going now?  Yes, of course you do; sorry, Boss.  I'll get on with it.  And sorry again for... <em>you</em> know."  He moved towards the welcome embrace of what he was starting to think of as 'his' seat.</p><p>Mac's gaze followed him, lasting a split second too long for comfort.</p><p>As Adam settled into place, Darrow sat back down beside him, like some kind of silent bodyguard.  Meanwhile, Lindsay and Stella left the room with a smile and a nod in the young man's direction.  Lindsay even winked at him.  "Well done," she mouthed, and he raised his eyebrows in friendly acknowledgement.  <em>Team Newbie...</em></p><p>Mac didn't move.  His arms were folded.  "Is there something else?" Adam ventured nervously.  <em>He's onto you,</em> said the voice inside his head; the one that always knew best.</p><p>"No, that all seems clear to me."  Turning to leave, Mac threw out one last quiet remark that froze Adam altogether.  "We'll talk later."</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>The first thing Adam saw when he opened his eyes again was the placid face of Mr. Boo.</p><p>"How did you do that?" he whispered, full of amazement.</p><p>Mr. Boo, as always, kept his own counsel but Adam thought he could detect a twinkle of amusement in those green button eyes.</p><p>"You're magic.  I knew it," he told the cat.  Catching a scent in the air, he lifted his head.  "C'n you smell that?"</p><p>Since Mr. Boo's nose was a triangle of pink felt, it was unlikely that sniffing out food counted as one of his talents.  Still, that didn't matter to Adam.  He carried on a cheerful conversation with his feline friend as he sat up stiffly, pulled on his t-shirt, which was draped nearby, and tried to work out the best way to climb off the couch.  "We did it, Mr. Boo; we really did.  Are you scared?  Cos I'm not..."  That thought made him pause for a moment and wonder, until the warm, inviting smell of breakfast overpowered him once more.  "I like Thomas, don't you?  Ow..."  He couldn't help crying out as he lowered his feet to the floor.  The ache in his back was dull by now and easier to bear, but his soles were a mess.  Why did tiny scratches always hurt so much more than the big ones?  One day, he was going to figure that out.  Adam curled his toes into the carpet, ground his teeth together, and stood up.  "Nnh..."</p><p><em>You can do it,</em> Mr. Boo told him silently.</p><p>Adam's stomach growled as he picked up the cat and squeezed him in his arms.  "Come on," he said.  "You're hungry.  Let's find Thomas."  Treading carefully, he hobbled from the room.</p><p>The kitchen was a shining place full of food and happiness. Sunlight streamed through the open window, touching every surface with its golden glow.  Reaching the doorway, Adam paused to gape at the cheerful scene.  He was half-afraid that he would break the spell if he went any further.  Maybe this was all a dream and he would wake up for real in a moment...</p><p>Mister Thomas was singing a song, but he stopped when he saw his guest.</p><p>"You're up," he said.  "I didn't expect...  I was going to bring you some food."</p><p>"I want to eat here, if it's okay.  Please," Adam ventured shyly.</p><p>"Of course you can."  There was something different about the way Thomas looked at him today, and the way he spoke.  It wasn't bad, but it wasn't the same.  After a few seconds, Adam saw it.  He was wearing a 'pity face', just like Mrs Tolmie, yesterday at school.  "Sit here," Thomas said, and he placed a fat cushion on the chair, propped up against the wooden back.</p><p>Adam sat down obediently and tried to catch his gaze.  "Okay," he nodded, placing his cat on the table in front of him, next to an empty plate.  "Mister Thomas...?"</p><p>"Yes, Adam?"</p><p>"Are... are you going to send me home?"</p><p>"No, I'm not."  The answer was swift and emphatic.  Adam could hardly believe it.</p><p>"You're not?"</p><p>"No, I'm not.  I promise."  That was twice!  And now Thomas was smiling at him, with his real face this time.  "Adam, I don't know what we're going to do about this, but I'm not going to force you home against your will.  After all," he added slyly, "I don't actually know where you live."</p><p>"Oh," Adam said, wide-eyed; "that's easy.  I live at..."</p><p>Thomas raised a hand to stop him.  Adam twitched - and then he saw the joke.  A smile broke out across his own face.  He couldn't help himself.  "You're funny," he giggled.  "And nice.  Thank you, Mister Thomas."</p><p>"Don't say 'thank you' till you've tasted my pancakes."  Thomas winced at the sudden smell of burning.  "Looks like the chef got a little bit distracted."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>After milk, and syrup pancakes - Adam ate six in the end, and they were delicious - Thomas made him a nest of cushions on the floor of the piano room.  "You'll be comfy here," he said.  "You can lie on your front, or sit up, or whatever you want."</p><p>Adam curled up with Mr. Boo.  For reasons that he couldn't fathom, he felt quite sleepy again.  "It's lovely.  Thank you."<br/><br/></p><p>"Want some music on?  Or you could look at a book..."</p><p>"Both," he said eagerly.  "Please, can I?"</p><p>"I think that's a great idea," Thomas reassured him.</p><p>The back wall of the room was lined with shelves full of records.  Adam had never seen so many in one place.  Daddy had a stack that no one else was allowed to touch, and Mary had a cardboard box of cassettes for her Walkman - but this!  "You must be very rich," Adam breathed with reverence, as he stared at them.</p><p>"Oh!  No..."  The young man gave an awkward shrug.  "Most of the time, I'd rather buy music than food, you know?"</p><p>"Then you must be very hungry."  Craning his neck to take in the whole of the glorious tower, Adam wondered why his new friend was laughing.  "What?  Did I say a joke?" he asked, bewildered.</p><p>"No.  Not at all.  Look, here..."  Thomas pulled out a record and held it in both hands with a look of pleasure on his face.  "Would you like...?"  He stopped and took a deep breath, before starting again.  "Did you know that music can tell you a story, just like words do?"</p><p>Adam considered the notion for a while, gnawing at his bottom lip with little white teeth.  "I see pictures when I listen," he confessed, at last.  "They don't always mean stuff, but I like them.  It's like... feelings, but you can see them.  Is that right?" he added in a whisper.</p><p>"Lucky boy," Thomas said.  "Yes, that's part of it.  Not everyone can see them, though - which makes you very special.  You've got a vivid imagination, Adam.  That's a precious thing."</p><p>A warm feeling spread through Adam's chest.  "I'm... special?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Can you see the pictures, Mister Thomas?"</p><p>"Yes, I can.  My father showed me how.  We used to listen to this record all the time when I was a little kid - younger than you."  He held it out for Adam to see.</p><p>"Pe-ter and the Wo... wolf," Adam spelled out laboriously.  It was hard to understand the curling, grown-up letters.  "Se... serg..."</p><p>"Sergei Prokofiev.  That's the composer.  You know, a person who writes music."</p><p>"Like you?"</p><p>"I wish."  Thomas grinned.  "This man is very famous.  And this is a famous tale, all the way from Russia.  It's about a brave boy and his friends; the duck, the bird... and the cat.  Would you like to hear it?"</p><p>Adam hugged Mr. Boo and nodded, pink-cheeked with anticipation; all his pain and weariness forgotten.  Thomas set the record spinning on the old-fashioned player.  The crackle was like a breath before a song; a moment of pure enchantment.</p><p>"Close your eyes, if you like."  Thomas perched on the piano stool and began, as all storytellers do, at the very beginning.  "This is the story of Peter and the Wolf.  Each character in the tale is going to be represented by a different instrument of the orchestra.  For instance, the bird will be played by the flute..."</p><p>A high, delightful series of notes began to play.  Adam hugged Mr. Boo even harder and closed his eyes obediently, waiting for the pictures to begin...</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>There were guards on the gate of the Old Town; faceless behind their painted leather masks - yet they offered no resistance.  Elfie strolled right past them, swinging her arms, and Boo hurried after her, unwilling to risk being left outside...</em>
</p><p>"Surely that was a little too easy?" Agent Darrow muttered.</p><p>"Mm hmm."  Adam was concentrating.</p><p>
  <em>"Why did they let us through like that?" Boo said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"This is our town."  Elfie turned to smile at him.  "And you're with me.  They know you're one of us now.  You mustn't be afraid, Boo.  Nothing can hurt you here.  This isn't the real world..."</em>
</p><p>"Okay, and that's just weird."  Sitting back in his chair, Adam stared at the little girl on the screen.</p><p>"She's self-aware."</p><p>Adam nodded.  "She knows the whole thing's imaginary.  Which can only mean one of two things.  Either she's been programmed that way, or..."  He leaned in again.</p><p>
  <em>"You sound different," Boo ventured.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Yes," Elfie said.  "I am."  She stood before him, her little hands clutched together in earnest appeal.  "I'm a person, Boo; just like you are.  You passed the test, and now you get to know the truth.  The Piper built this place for all of us.  We're special..."</em>
</p><p>Adam swallowed.  <em>Special.</em>  Somewhere in his memory, an echo sounded, making him tremble.  He hid it as well as he could, but Darrow was watching him closely - had been, ever since Mac left the room, in fact.</p><p>"This is hard for you, isn't it?  Harder than the others know."</p><p>"Of course not."  Even to Adam's own ear, his words sounded false.  "It's just a game, right?"</p><p>"I'm sorry.  Of course.  I was wrong to presume."  The agent's reply was stilted and yet full of kindness.  <em>You don't want to talk about it,</em> his eyes said.  "My mistake."</p><p>"That's okay."  <em>Thank you,</em> Adam sent back, silently.</p><p>
  <em>The town was full of shadows.  Crooked wooden buildings leaned in around them, and over them.  "Who are you?" Boo said to Elfie.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No names," the girl said primly.  "Not yet.  Pan's rules."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Then who is Pan?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"He's the Piper."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And the Piper is...?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"The Piper is Pan."  Elfie's smiling avatar gave nothing away.  Whatever truth she knew was cloaked in riddles and obfuscation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"i want to know more."<br/></em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And you will, I promise."  She held out her hand.  "Follow me.  We can talk on the way..."</em>
</p><p>"Hey, Adam.  You see Mac around here lately?"</p><p>Adam jumped and dragged his consciousness back to reality.  "What?"</p><p>"Mac Taylor.  The guy in charge.  The one that hired you."  Danny's knowing grin took the sting out of his sarcasm.</p><p>"Ha ha."  Spinning his chair around, Adam checked the corridors and the Boss Man's office.  "He was just here, okay - but I don't really know where he went.  Sorry."</p><p>The detective raised his evidence bag in cheerful acknowledgement.  "Never mind.  I'll find him.  He needs to see this."</p><p>"What?" said Adam again, feeling quite disjointed, but Danny had already left the room.</p><p>"People come and go so quickly around here," Darrow quoted slyly.</p><p>"Tell me about it," Adam sighed.</p><p>
  <em>Strangely, there were no other characters to be seen as Boo walked through the Old Town; only a series of pinprick eyes that followed his progress from the shadows.  "I thought you said nothing could hurt me."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It can't."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"But there are creatures everywhere."  Up ahead, he caught sight of one clearly, sharp teeth and all.  "Is that a rat?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead of answering, Elfie challenged him with another question.  "Is it truly rats that scare you?  I don't think so, Boo.  You can tell me.  It's okay..."</em>
</p><p>Adam clenched his fists.  Pressure was building up inside him, fuelled by memory and exhaustion; a boiling, irrational surge that he couldn't control.  Trapped in the madness of the moment, he felt a strong desire to force some kind of visceral response from the smiling girl.  Ignoring the hand that Darrow stretched out in concern, he jabbed at the keyboard savagely.</p><p>
  <em>"You don't know me, or the things I'm scared of.  You have no idea.  Stop pretending you care."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elfie stood before him, blinking.  Boo waited, but she made no attempt to reply, and he turned away in frustration...</em>
</p><p>...as Adam leapt up from his chair, full of horror, and fled, leaving Elfie and Darrow and everything else behind him.  Oh, God.  <em>Oh,</em> God...  <em>You blew it this time, Adam, you waste of space.  Tell that to Mac Taylor, why don't you?</em>  "I need a break," he managed to blurt out just before he left the room.</p><p>Darrow watched him go without a word.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>The locker room was cool and quiet.  Turning off the strip light, which was painfully bright, Adam sat on the bench and cradled his aching head in his hands.  "What am I doing?" he asked himself.  "What made me think I could handle this job?  It's too hard.  I didn't know..."</p><p><em>What? </em>said the voice in his head.  <em>Didn't know that your demons would follow you?  </em>Well, they had - and what was he going to do about it?  <em>Run away,</em> the voice sneered.  <em>Just like you did back when you were a kid.  Run far, far away.  See how well that turns out this time...</em></p><p>"No."  He brushed the tears from his eyes, but more took their place.  "I'm not going anywhere."</p><p>"Adam?"</p><p>The voice at the door was gruff and full of concern.  It was also familiar.</p><p>"Mac."  Adam tried not to let his new boss see that he had caught him in the ridiculous act of sobbing like a child.  "I was just... you know..."  So hard to finish his sentence.  Every lie that he came up with seemed to shrivel on his tongue, leaving him with nothing.  Mac moved closer.</p><p>"Talk to me," he suggested.</p><p>"There's nothing to talk about."</p><p>Sitting down on the bench right next to him, Mac waited patiently.</p><p>"You know anyway," Adam persisted.  "Don't you?  Come on,  Mac."</p><p>"What makes you think that?"</p><p>"I saw the look in your eyes, before.  You're not stupid..."</p><p>"Well, thank you, Adam."</p><p>Wincing, he tried to save himself.  "I didn't mean...  It's just...  Your face; when I said..."</p><p>"You're not making a whole lot of sense here," Mac offered.  "Want me to try?"</p><p>"Yes, please," Adam said, giving up all control to the man who sat beside him.  To his surprise, it felt better that way.</p><p>Mac dipped his head and thought for a moment or two.  "You're right," he said, at last.  "That answer of yours made me re-evaluate a couple of things that I didn't understand.  Such as your behaviour when we reconstructed Eggar's fight with Ruth.  And your extreme dedication to this case."</p><p>"I want to help the missing children," Adam whispered.</p><p>"I can see that.  And - forgive me if I'm wrong - but I think I know why.  You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," Mac said carefully.  "We've only just met, after all, and I have no claim on your past; I know that too - but sometimes talking helps.  I'm here right now, I'm your boss, and I'm listening.  You can trust me to keep your secret.  Adam... were you a victim too?  As a boy?"</p><p>"As a boy?"  Adam struggled to keep the bitterness out of his voice, and the shame.  "My father hasn't changed, okay?  What he was then, he is now.  Fact of life."  He shrugged his shoulders.</p><p>"Fact of life."  Mac repeated the phrase, but he didn't seem convinced.  "Really?  More of a personal choice, if you ask me.  Adam, have <em>you</em> changed?  I didn't know you back then, but I think I can tell you something about who you are now."</p><p>Adam stared at him, too stunned to speak.</p><p>"You're stubborn," Mac continued, smiling ever so slightly.  "A trait that links us both, I'm afraid.  You're also creative, resourceful, intelligent - and you appear to have that rare gift, the ability to put yourself in someone else's shoes."</p><p>"I..."  Still, the words wouldn't come.  Adam stared at his boss in bewilderment.</p><p>"Whatever your father did to you - and I'm not going to press for details - you overcame that long ago, or you wouldn't be Adam Ross, the person who's sitting here now.  The person I hired.  The person who's doing his utmost to help those children - because he cares."</p><p>"But Mac, I blew it," Adam breathed, full of regret.</p><p>"I doubt that."  Mac shook his head.  "Not according to Agent Darrow."</p><p>A light bulb flared, metaphorically.  "He sent you after me," Adam guessed.</p><p>"He thought I could help.  Was he right?"</p><p>"I don't know," the young man said honestly.  "What you said - that means a lot.  And I'll think about it, okay; I promise.  My life - it's kind of a mess.  But I won't let that get in the way of my work.  Not ever again," he added quickly.  "This was just..."</p><p>"Time out."  Mac raised an eyebrow.  "Everyone needs it, now and then."</p><p>"Even you?"</p><p>"What - you think I'm immune?  This job doesn't get to me too?"  The question was wickedly phrased, and there was a gleam in Mac's eye.  Adam gave a wary grin, even as he fumbled for an answer.</p><p>"Yes, Boss.  I mean, no...?"</p><p>Mac rose to his feet.  "Your past is part of who you are.  Use it, Adam.  Take control.  Right now, it's your advantage."  Walking away, in the darkness, he turned to give the young man one last word of reassurance that went straight to his heart.  "We can't solve this without you."</p><p>The door swung shut.  Adam stayed where he was, on the bench, for quite some time, thinking about Mac's words... and Lindsay's kindness, and Stella, and the others.  Had he finally found the home that he had been yearning for, all this time?</p><p><em>Yes -</em> <em>time, </em>he thought.  Time would tell.  Meanwhile, work was calling to him.</p><p>Adam scrubbed his face with both hands, took a deep breath and headed right back to the lab, where he belonged.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Adam was quiet until the music ended.  His fingers were curled around that sad old cat of his, and his mouth hung open.  Captured by the rise and fall of the story, his breathing was erratic.  Thomas watched his little chest heave up and down.  The movement was hypnotic.  They were bound together by the spell that he himself was weaving.</p><p>"So - did you like it?" he said, when the last note had died away and the magic was only an echo in their minds.</p><p>"Oh!" said Adam.  Nothing more; but then, nothing more was necessary.  Thomas nodded wisely.</p><p>"Want to hear something else?"</p><p>Adam's blue eyes were huge.  "No, thank you.  I'm still re-mem-bering."  Such careful manners.  Thomas felt a wave of sadness.</p><p>"Quite right.  My apologies."  Rising to his feet, he slipped from the room and left Adam alone with his dream of wolves and bravery.</p><p>The kitchen was hot and stuffy.  Even though most of his pancakes had been a triumph, there was an acrid smell in the air from the burnt one that made Thomas want to gag.  He opened the back door - but it was no cooler outside, so he opened the fridge as well and let the icy air soothe his ruffled spirit.  Closing his eyes, he pictured a cold day... frost on the window panes... the sting of rain...</p><p>"Never thought I'd spend all my time longing for bad weather," he sighed.</p><p>Shuffling footsteps alerted him to a nervous figure in the doorway.  "Mister Thomas?"</p><p>"What is it, Adam?"</p><p>The look on the boy's face was urgent.  "I need to go..."</p><p>"What?"  Thomas closed the fridge and confronted him, rather more roughly than he had intended.  "What are you talking about?  You want to go home?"</p><p>Adam clung onto the door frame for support.  His feet were clearly bothering him.  Thomas made a mental note to check them later - if there was a later.  Feeling far too tall for this conversation, he crouched down instead and caught Adam's shifting gaze with his own troubled eyes.  "Are you sure?"</p><p>"Not home," Adam mumbled.  "I need... to go."</p><p>Thomas blushed to the roots of his hair and smacked his forehead.  "I'm an idiot."</p><p>"No," Adam told him earnestly.  "You're not."</p><p>"Yes, I am.  You can go to the bathroom whenever you want, Adam.  You don't have to ask."</p><p>"Okay..."  Adam began to turn, but the slow, awkward movement was painful to watch.</p><p>"I've a better way," Thomas grinned, and swept him up in his arms, with no hesitation this time.  They reached the bathroom in six long strides.  He set the boy down carefully, backed out and shut the door.</p><p>"Thank you," said a small voice, through the wood.</p><p>Leaving Adam in peace, Thomas made his way back to the piano stool, that place of comfort.  His long fingers stroked the middle keys and pressed down, bringing forth a quiet chord.</p><p>Something was stirring...</p><p>Thomas frowned, and tried a few more notes.  They skipped and ran together, happy in their new-found friendship.  Then came a deep note, oppressive and dark, that dragged the music into a minor key.  The high notes continued to play but, underneath their simple theme, the darkness was a heavy counterpoint.</p><p>"It makes me sad."  The boy was standing behind him again.  How long had he been there?</p><p>"It's you," Thomas said, full of guilt at his admission.  "I felt it and I had to set it free.  I'm sorry."</p><p>Adam limped closer.  "It's okay," he breathed.  "I know.  I c'n feel it too."  He leaned against his friend.  "Keep playing..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Mac left the locker room, but Adam refused to leave his thoughts.  Wiser men, perhaps, would have taken him off the case and selected a task guaranteed to ease him in more gently.  In Mac's view, that was self-defeating.  His last words to Adam had been the truth, pure and simple.  And he thought - no, he was <em>certain</em> that the young lab tech had the strength of will to handle this.  "Or I'm no judge of character," he muttered.</p><p><em>Unstable,</em> said his cynical side.</p><p><em>Understandable,</em> he countered quickly.  According to Darrow, the trigger for Adam's 'time out' had been deceptively small, but the feelings behind it ran deep, Mac could tell.  Sitting down with the young man, he hadn't pushed for details.  Let the monster out of the box and you could never coax it back.  He didn't want Adam to feel that darkness between them whenever he looked at his boss.  To know that Mac had abused his position and stolen a part of his soul.  That kind of sharing - that came with time and it was the product of trust.  Maybe one day, Mac thought.  Maybe one day they would have another conversation.  Right now, he had done enough, or so he hoped.  The rest was up to Adam, in the end.</p><p>Arriving at his office, he found Danny Messer waiting for him.</p><p>"<em>There</em> you are," Danny said.  "I've been goin' in circles and I thought, you know, if I stood still, you might come to me instead."  He grinned, and Mac grinned with him.  Danny was refreshing, sometimes.  "Turns out I was right."</p><p>"Very logical."  Mac glanced at the evidence bag.  "What have you got for me?  How did it go in the Park?"</p><p>Danny laughed out loud.  "Maybe you should ask Flack," he suggested cryptically.</p><p>"I'm asking you.  Did the drop take place?"</p><p>"In a manner of speaking.  Allan gave the money to a kid, somewhere out of sight.  He's the one who passed it on to Volker."</p><p>"And Flack?"</p><p>"Had a 'drop' of his own, actually.  As in, he dropped Volker - right into the lake.  That jerk has a real bad habit of takin' off, right when you want him to stay still."</p><p>"Tell me about it."  Mac gave a wry smile.  "Don okay?"</p><p>"Does 'soaked to the skin' count as okay?"</p><p>"You're enjoying this story, aren't you?"</p><p>"<em>Oh </em>yeah.  Aren't you?"</p><p>The safest option, Mac thought, was to avoid the question altogether.  "What's in the bag, Danny?"</p><p>"Somethin' that'll blow your mind."  Fishing a glove from his pocket, Danny opened the evidence bag and drew out a plain brown envelope.  It bore the mark of his work in the shape of several dark smudges.  "First thing I did when I got back was check this for prints.  Next thing I did was come lookin' for you."</p><p>"Well, you found me."  <em>Get to the point,</em> said Mac's frown.  "Did the prints belong to Richard Allan?"</p><p>"No.  But I'll tell you, they popped up real quick all the same."  Gone was Danny's humour, in the blink of an eye.  "I found 'em on a database for missing kids - so I double checked.  They're also on the list of prints you pulled from Darrow's flash drive."</p><p>Gripped by the same instinct, both men turned to stare at the gallery of faces.  "Who?" Mac said urgently.</p><p>Danny moved in to study the pictures.  Moments later, he had found the face that he was looking for.  He stabbed it with his finger.  "This kid.  Though you'd never know it to look at him, Mac.  He must be three years older now, an' his hair is black, not light brown - but it's him alright.  I don't get it, but it's true.  John Fraser from Logan, West Virginia, is alive and well, scootin' around Central Park and passin' out money to criminals.  He goes by Jack Fowler now, apparently.  Same initials.  Creative."</p><p>"Tell me you still have him, Danny."</p><p>"Yes, we do."  Danny's tone was triumphant.  "He's down with Hawkes at the one-two right this very minute, lookin' at mug shots of Allan.  We tried to call his mom - his <em>fake</em> mom - from the details he gave us at the scene.  Guess we know why <em>that</em> didn't work..."</p><p>Listening to Danny, Mac felt a sudden overwhelming sense of relief.  Alive!  After three years, this boy was still alive.</p><p>Was there hope for the others as well?</p><p><em>I choose to believe it,</em> he told himself fiercely.  Hope wasn't logical or scientific - but that didn't make it any less valuable to their investigation.</p><p>When he looked across at Danny, Mac was gratified to see a reflection of that hope in the younger man's eyes.</p><p>"Let's give Darrow the good news," he said.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>"How we doin'?"  Don Flack opened the car door and dropped in next to Kaile Maka.  If he made her jump, she hid it well.</p><p>"From one stakeout to another?" she asked him pleasantly.  "I thought you were a man of action, Flack."  The look she gave him was full of mischief.  "Or did your early morning swim take it out of you?"</p><p>"Ha ha."  <em>Dispatch,</em> Don thought.  <em>Or Danny Messer...</em>  "News travels fast around here."</p><p>"You have no idea."  With an air of calm satisfaction, Kaile turned her attention back to the view through the front windscreen - a Manhattan town house, just a few blocks away from Central Park.  At the same time, she raised a half-eaten chocolate bar to her lips, as though she had pulled it out of thin air just to torment him.</p><p>"Nnh," sighed Don, who was starving.</p><p>Kaile laughed, and threw a second bar onto his lap.  "You're too easy," she told him.  "How's the eye?"</p><p>"Peachy, thank you."  Don tore the wrapper off with gusto and crammed the whole thing into his mouth.</p><p>"I'd say more of a plum colour, actually.  Ripening nicely."  Watching him struggle to reply, Kaile changed the subject neatly.  "Allan arrived home just after I got here.  Too bad the Park was a bust.  Maybe we'll catch him this way."</p><p>"Doin' what?" Don grumbled thickly.  "Shoppin'?  Or walkin' his dog, maybe?"</p><p>"He has a dog?"</p><p>"<em>I </em>don't know.  I was just..."</p><p>"Letting off steam."  Kaile nodded.  "I know.  We should have been watching this place from the moment that FBI guy dropped his bombshell.  Better late than never, though."  She pointed to the town house.  "Allan's been renting here for three months.  He's on the top floor. View of the Park and everything."</p><p>"Crime pays."  Flack couldn't seem to let go of his sour mood, although the chocolate had sweetened him up considerably.  "Unlike law enforcement."  He offered Kaile a lop-sided, boyish smile.  It was a lazy way to apologise, but thankfully it seemed to do the trick.</p><p>"You said it."  Kaile sighed.  "Look, my legs are getting stiff.  I need to stretch them for a while.  How about it, Flack?  You happy to sit here while I go for coffee?  I'll bring you a cup," she wheedled.  "Extra large..."</p><p>"Hey, you had me at the chocolate bar," he admitted.  "I'm putty in your hands for the next few hours at least.  Make the most of it."</p><p>Kaile smirked as she opened the door.  "Like I said - easy."</p><p>Rising to her feet, she halted suddenly.  The front door of the town house had opened to reveal a familiar figure.  "It's Allan," she hissed.</p><p>"Get back in," Flack told her.</p><p>"Won't that look weird?"</p><p>"Okay then - let's have an argument.  Boyfriend, girlfriend; unresolved issues - you know how that goes, right, Maka...?"</p><p>Kaile glared at him.  "Fight with you?  No acting required, then."</p><p>"You take that back."</p><p>"You just make me."</p><p>Trying not to laugh, they sparred back and forth, keeping one eye on their subject.  Richard Allan stepped down onto the sidewalk, dressed in a casual outfit of jeans and a polo shirt.  His mousy hair was smooth and his face was calm as he strolled in their direction.  Soon, he would pass right by the 'angry couple'.</p><p>"I'm leaving you," Kaile snapped, and slammed the car door.  Flack gazed through the windscreen at her in astonishment - until he caught her winking at him.</p><p><em>Clever,</em> he had to admit, as Allan breezed past and Kaile fell into step behind him.  <em>Very clever...</em></p><p>At least, it would have been if Allan hadn't turned around.</p><p>"Good morning," he said, his deep nasal voice sounding utterly smug.  "Can I help you with something... Detective?"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Panic has a nasty way of stalking you from behind and reaching out to incapacitate you just when you least expect it.</p><p>Thomas was in his bedroom, busy cutting an old t-shirt into strips so that he could bandage Adam's feet (first aid supplies were woefully lacking in his medicine cabinet) when a wicked little thought stabbed him like a needle, releasing its poison and then pulling back to let it spread.</p><p>Cursing himself for a blind fool, he looked down at the strips in his hands and saw the dangerous truth that he had missed.</p><p>The cuts on Adam's feet had opened up again and were starting to bleed.  They were bleeding last night as well.  Thomas had watched enough crime shows on TV to know what that meant.  Right now, beyond all doubt, a bright red trail of footprints led the way across the road to his back yard.  "Can you say 'jail sentence'?" he asked himself dismally.  "Can you say 'doomed'?"</p><p>Common sense fought back.  <em>Not yet,</em> it argued.  <em>You can still fix this.</em>  After all, Adam was counting on him for protection.  The boy had so much faith in him, it was almost overwhelming.  All he could do in return was try and live up to such innocent expectations.</p><p>"Time to act like a man, then," Thomas sighed out loud.  Time to destroy the evidence...</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>There was a scrubbing brush under the sink - left behind, no doubt, by the previous tenant, a little old lady who was far more house proud than Thomas could ever hope to be.  He found a bucket outside, resting quietly on its rim in a dusty corner.  It was sun-bleached, from black to smoky grey, but still appeared to be water-tight.  Apologising to the disgruntled spider who had taken up residence in its shade, Thomas filled it to the brim at the kitchen sink and then hefted it out through the back gate, almost soaking his feet as water slopped in all directions.  The brush was tucked beneath his arm and its bristles pricked his skin in a hundred different places.  "Feels like I'm trying to carry a hedgehog," Thomas grumbled.  Obliquely, he wondered if that would have been easier.</p><p>As soon as he made it out onto the sidewalk, he let the brush drop.  It hit the ground with a thump - right next to a little red footprint.</p><p>Thomas set the bucket down and shook his head.</p><p>Seeing was so much worse than imagining.  It was one thing to make a logical assumption.  it was quite another to see one... two...  no, make that three bloody footprints, right outside his own back yard.  "I'm not a criminal," Thomas said firmly, trying to convince himself even though, right now, it was hard to believe.  Scanning the road in both directions, he dipped his brush into the bucket and began to scrub at the nearest print.</p><p>For a Saturday morning, it was remarkably quiet.  A few cars slipped by at intervals but none of them took any notice of the young man with his scrubbing brush.  "Nothing to see here," Thomas whispered as he worked.  "Move along. That's right..."</p><p>Three more cars sailed past before his luck ran out.</p><p>The white Chevrolet was moving slowly, which was why Thomas never heard it creep up on him - not until it was too late.  The car shuddered to a halt, passing right over the third bloody footprint.  Thomas gaped at the wheels in dismay before rising through the wave of heat that clung to the white metal frame.</p><p><em>I'm sweating, </em>he thought.  Water dripped from his fingertips.  Afraid to look down, he prayed with all his heart that the puddle at his feet had lost its tell-tale hue.</p><p>The driver rolled down his window and peered out, removing his sunglasses as he did so.  His face was genial but anxious.  There was a bright red mark across the bridge of his nose, made by the heavy glasses, and he scratched it with his stubby fingernails.  "Seen my boy?" he asked, one stranger to another.</p><p>Thomas was gripped by a terrible urge to blurt out the truth.  <em>Yes I have,</em> he thought.  <em>He's in my house right now, curled up on a pile of cushions.</em></p><p>
  <em>Stop!</em>
</p><p>"I don't think so," he said out loud, in a casual voice that sounded incredibly false to his ears.  "Big or small?"</p><p>"Oh, small," said the man who looked like Adam.  "He's just a little kid, you know?  Got into some trouble at school yesterday and now he's run off...  Guess he's scared.  Need to find him."</p><p>"Yes.  Yes, of course," Thomas babbled inanely.  Somehow, his tongue had disconnected itself from his useless brain and was trying to fix this all by itself.  "Pretty hot out here, isn't it?"</p><p>The driver gave him a level, appraising stare.  "It is, " he agreed, in the careful tone of someone who has just realised that they are talking to a crazy person.  His gaze slipped down to the bucket with a flicker of curiosity.  Thomas held his breath, waiting for the question that would stun him altogether.</p><p>
  <em>Why are you washing the sidewalk?</em>
</p><p>"Um," he said, searching for a way to redirect the conversation before it was too late.  He could still feel cold drops of water running down his hand.  <em>Don't be red,</em> he begged them  "Um...  If I see him, then...  Your boy, I mean.  If I do..."</p><p><em>I sound like Adam,</em> he thought.</p><p>"You can give me a call," the man said, lifting his eyes.  They were sharp and blue.  Thomas felt them boring through his skull.  "I'm in the book.  Charles Ross."</p><p>And now the monster had a name.  Thomas gave a shiver of regret.  It had been so much easier when Adam's father was anonymous; when the boy's nightmare was a distant, invisible thing.  Information was a curse.</p><p>In his mind, Adam stared at him with that trusting face of his - like, and yet so unlike the man before him.</p><p>Thomas bit his lip.</p><p>"Charles Ross," he said with a nod.  "Got it.  What does your son look like?"</p><p>"Skinny," Adam's father said.  "Red-brown hair.  Chestnut, my wife calls it - typical woman.  Filling his head with fancy notions.  Boys should be boys, right?  No nonsense."  The red line deepened as he frowned.  His genial mask was beginning to crack.  Thomas felt a prickle in the small of his back, where the sweat was pooling.</p><p>"So I was taught.  Good luck with your search," he offered politely.</p><p>Charles Ross shrugged his shoulders.  "I'll find him."</p><p>
  <em>No, you won't.</em>
</p><p>The phrase was simple and clear, like the peal of a bell.  Thomas liked the way it sounded in his head.</p><p>Slipping on his glasses, Adam's father pulled away.  The car crawled slowly down the road; a predator searching for its prey.  Thomas gave an involuntary shudder and bent to continue his task with a new sense of purpose.  The incident had frightened him, but it had also made him stronger and he knew exactly what he had to do.</p><p>Destroy all evidence.</p><p>Hide the boy.</p><p>Protect him - whatever the cost.</p><p>Thomas hadn't liked Charles Ross; not one little bit.  And Adam was <em>not</em> going back.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Watching the scene unfold from the passenger seat, Flack stiffened.</p><p>He saw Kaile's fingers twitch and knew that she was thinking of her gun.  <em>Not yet,</em> he urged her silently, wishing he was out there with her.  Contact with the suspect was the last thing they had wanted.  <em>Play it cool.  See what he wants...</em></p><p>"I'm sorry," Kaile said.  "Perhaps you think you know me, Mr...?"</p><p>"Come now."  Richard Allan's smile was lazy and he used air quotes to add an extra layer of smugness to his next words.  "I 'think' we all know who we are.  I'm an innocent victim of persecution and you're the dupes of the FBI.  Sound about right to you?"</p><p>"I don't..."</p><p>"Know what I'm talking about?  Of course you do.  Spotting cops is... well, let's just call it a hobby of mine.  How does the saying go?  Practice makes perfect."</p><p>"How does the saying go?" Flack muttered under his breath.  "You're a jackass..."</p><p>Kaile's reaction was slightly less childish.  "Mr. Allan, then.  I'm Detective Maka and my colleague is Detective Flack.  Feel free to use both our names when you make an official complaint."</p><p>"Oh, I don't want to complain.  Let's face it, your presence makes me the safest person in the city right now.  It's also the ideal way to prove my innocence."  With the insolent air of a man who believes he has nothing to fear, Allan looked her up and down.  "At least they sent a pretty one this time."  Sliding his eyes away, he peered through the windshield.  "How on earth do you get any work done?" he mouthed to Flack.</p><p>"That does it."  'Cool' was no longer an option.  Like a jack in the box, Flack sprang from the car in one swift move.  Seconds later, he had the neck of Allan's polo shirt twisted up in his fist.</p><p>"You might want to rethink," his victim said hoarsely.  "I have a first-rate lawyer."</p><p>"So I've heard."  Flack released him.  "Lawyers don't scare me.  Perverts who think they're immune to the law - now that makes my blood run cold."</p><p>"I quite agree."  Carefully, Allan began to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt.  "Imagine how I feel, Detective... Flack, was it?  Hounded wherever I go.  Accused of such <em>terrible</em> things.  It's a good job I still have a sense of humour, or I wouldn't be the well-adjusted man you see before you."</p><p>"All I see is you."  Flack folded his arms.</p><p>Allan sighed.  "Look," he suggested, dropping the act at last.  "Can't we make some kind of deal here?  You two can tail me all you like - we'll take in some great places, see the sights...  You ever been to the Empire State Building?  We can go there...  I just don't want trouble.  I'm <em>sick</em> of trouble, if you must know.  Don't bother me and I won't bother you.  You can pass that along to my old friend Agent Darrow, by the way."</p><p>"We'll do that," Kaile assured him.  Flack kept silent, but his eyes spoke volumes about his opinion.</p><p>Nodding, Allan stepped away.  "A pleasure to meet you, Detective," he said to Kaile.  Then he turned to Flack.  "Not quite such a pleasure.  I'm sure you understand."</p><p>Flack's mouth fell open.  Allan spun on his heels and offered them one last truculent smile before he went on his way.</p><p>The two detectives had no choice but to follow him, keeping their distance.  As they did so, Kaile voiced her own opinion of the meeting.  "That man," she said, "is a jackass."</p><p>She looked surprised when Flack began to laugh out loud.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Returning to the AV lab, Adam was startled to find Darrow still sitting there as though nothing untoward had happened.</p><p>"You've had a reply," he said mildly.  Adam stared at him.  With a grin, the agent inclined his head towards the screen.  "From the cartoon girl.  Well played - looks like your tactic worked."</p><p><em>My tactic.  Is that what we're calling it?</em>  Sliding into his seat, Adam took a look.  Sure enough, Elfie was still there, waiting quietly for his return, her last words lingering until he chose to respond.</p><p>
  <em>"I'm sorry, Boo.  Don't be angry with me.  I understand more than you know..."</em>
</p><p>"Thank you," Adam murmured.  He glanced sideways at Darrow as he said it, hoping that the expression in his eyes would convey his true meaning.</p><p>Darrow raised an eyebrow but did not reply.  Adam found that he was really beginning to appreciate the agent's quiet manner.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, he thought carefully and then began to type.  <em>"I'm sorry too..."</em>  He was interrupted by the arrival of both Mac and Danny.  They seemed excited about something, so he lifted his fingers before pressing 'enter'.  No doubt Elfie could wait a few minutes.  This had to be big.  The smile on Mac's face was... unexpected.</p><p>"What's up?"  Adam flushed as he met Mac's eyes, and dipped his head ever so slightly.  The memory of their conversation was still fresh in his mind, and he couldn't help feeling embarrassed.  To Mac's credit, he gave Adam space to recover himself and switched his full attention to Agent Darrow instead.</p><p>Or perhaps it was the agent they had actually come to see.</p><p>"We have... news," Mac said.</p><p>"Great news," Danny added, clearly unable to contain himself.  The man fizzed like a firework when he was excited.</p><p>Darrow eyed them warily.  Adam held his breath.</p><p>"We have one of your missing kids down at the precinct."</p><p>Mac dropped his bombshell with as much care as he could, but the agent's reaction was still one of absolute shock.  "What?  I don't..."  Darrow left his chair.  His hands were trembling, like those of an old man.  Adam watched them, fascinated.  Small details always captured his attention.  Dimly, he heard the rest of Mac's explanation - something about the Park, and Flack, and a boating lake...</p><p>He tuned back in.</p><p>"It wasn't until Danny ran the prints on the envelope that he found out - the kid who made the drop is John Fraser."</p><p>"Logan," Darrow whispered.  "West Virginia."</p><p>"That's right, yes.  He goes by Jack Fowler now, but it's the same boy.  No doubt about it."</p><p>"Detective Taylor, I have to see him.  Please..."</p><p>"I understand.  That's why I'm telling you first."  Mac reached out a hand to steady him.  "Sit down, Agent Darrow.  Just get used to the idea.  Then we'll go."</p><p>Darrow twitched away from his grasp.  "No!  I'm sorry...  It's fine.  I'm fine.  Let's go <em>now</em>."  His voice was pleading; childlike.  Adam felt sorry for him.</p><p>"Of course," Mac said kindly.  Leading the agent away, they left the room and headed for the elevator.</p><p>The doors closed behind them - and that was when Adam realised he was all alone.</p><p>What now?  He glanced around uncertainly.  On the screen, Elfie bobbed up and down, her wide eyes blinking - just like his unfinished sentence.  Should he continue without supervision, and risk Mac's wrath, or should he fetch help?</p><p>Adam giggled, and rose to his feet.  "Kind of a no-brainer, really," he said, and went in search of Lindsay.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Thomas sat down on the carpet in front of Adam's nest and crossed his legs.  Whenever grown-ups did that - got down on your level and put on that serious face - it meant they wanted to Talk.</p><p>Or rather, they wanted you to do the Talking.</p><p>Adam knew he ought to be polite, so he pushed aside the book of maps that he was studying and struggled to sit up.  Mrs Roberts always said that you should sit up straight if you were paying attention.  Adam was more of a wriggler, but he tried to remember the rule.</p><p>The first question was a tricky one.  "How are you feeling?" Thomas asked.</p><p>With a frown of concentration, Adam thought about this.  There were lots of different answers.  In the end, he picked the one that best described his current state.  He had cushions and maps, and a kind new friend...</p><p>"I'm happy," he said.</p><p>Thomas blinked.  "That's not what I... okay, good," he corrected himself with a smile.  "Glad to hear it.  How are your feet - and your back?"</p><p>Avoiding the deeper aspects of this second question - or perhaps it was the same one - Adam stroked the makeshift bandages that ran all the way from his toes to his ankles.  "I've got mummy feet," he giggled.</p><p>Once again, Thomas blinked.  Adam saw the expression on his face and understood.  "I'm sorry; I know what you mean.  I'll answer prop'ly.  They hurt..."  His bright mood fell into shadow, like the sun behind a cloud.</p><p>Now it was Thomas who looked sorry.  "Never mind," he said.  "Silly question.  I knew the answer anyway."</p><p>Adam wouldn't have been surprised if Thomas said that he knew everything in the whole world.  The sun peeped out again through his blue eyes.  "Mister Thomas," he said, as he stared at his friend.  "You're all wet!"</p><p>Thomas blushed.  "Yes, I am," he admitted.  "Don't worry about that.  I just got... splashed."</p><p>"Did you turn the tap on too quick?" Adam asked with sympathy.  "'Cause I do that all the time, okay?  Momma says its not anything to be ashamed of.  She always says it'll dry before..."  He tailed off, and started again.  "It'll dry."</p><p>"Thank you, Adam," Thomas said quietly.  "That helps a lot."</p><p>Adam beamed.  "I like these maps," he said, starting a new conversation in the hope that Thomas had finished with his awkward questions.  "But the names are di-ffi-cult to read - will you help me?  I don't know if I'm getting them right."  He pulled the book onto his knee and ran his finger beneath an example.  "Massa...  Massa..."</p><p>"Massachusetts."  Together, they grinned.  The word was funny.</p><p>"That's perfect," Adam said, impressed.  "It's all chewy in your mouth.  Massa-chew-setts."  He ran his finger further down the page.  "N...New York S-st..."</p><p>"State," supplied Thomas.  He tilted his head with a faraway look.  "New York, New York.  So good they named it twice.  That's a wonderful city."</p><p>"It is?"  Adam's eyes grew wide.  "Have you been there?"</p><p>Thomas climbed to his feet and wandered over to a nearby shelf.  He pulled out a small book and brought it back for Adam to see.  "It's a guide book.  I spent a whole term in New York, as an exchange student at the Juilliard."  The words meant little to Adam, so Thomas went on.  "There are photographs - look."</p><p>They bent their heads over the colourful pages.  Thomas took Adam on an imaginary tour of the city and he listened intently, biting his lip as he tried to fix all the wonderful names in his memory.  Battery Park.  The Empire State Building.  Times Square.  Manhattan.  The Statue of Liberty...</p><p>"I want to go there," he said.  "Will you take me?"</p><p>"You can take yourself, one day," said Thomas.  "When you're a man, you can do whatever you want."</p><p>"Like you?"</p><p>"Like me.  You can leave it all behind."  Thomas flushed as he spoke, but Adam was still convinced.  He took the new thought and wrapped it up safely, deep inside, just like Mr. Boo's red sock heart.  It was his now; a new thing to treasure.  A dream of his very own.</p><p>No one could take that away from him.</p><p>"Thank you, Mister Thomas," Adam whispered.  "That helps a lot."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>A curious thing happened whenever Danny stepped into the Twelfth Precinct.  Something in his brain gave a funny little flip and turned his perspective inside out.  Here, surrounded by the bustle and the noise, the hard smell of cheap filter coffee and those ugly, familiar walls, he felt like a beat cop again - for a little while, at least.  <em>A cop who's a bit of a geek on the side,</em> he grinned, as he let the front door swing shut behind him.</p><p>Back at the Crime Lab, the opposite was true.  There, the cool glass and the white coats made him feel so much at home that it startled him sometimes.  There, he was a scientist, no doubt about it - though he knew full well that if Sid Hammerback, say, or Evan Zhao cut him open, he would still have 'cop' printed right through his core like a stick of rock.</p><p>"I'm a complicated guy," he muttered smugly to himself, captured by the fanciful thought.</p><p>"What's that?" Mac said.</p><p>"Nothin'," Danny grinned.  "Where did Hawkes say he'd meet us?"</p><p>"Sounds like he's managed to commandeer an interview room.  I warned him not to spook the kid.  He said he had it covered."  Mac looked a little dubious.  Sheldon Hawkes was still so very new at all of this.</p><p>Darrow stuck close to Mac's side.  Since leaving the lab, he had barely uttered a single word to either detective.  <em>Shell-shocked, </em>was Danny's unofficial diagnosis.  It was almost as though Darrow could not even see the world around him.  The tall man had stumbled on several occasions, leaving Danny to wonder exactly how insulting it would be if he reached out a friendly hand and steered Darrow through the maze of desks and milling bodies.  "Nearly there," he said, offering pale words in place of the dubious action.  "You must be pretty freaked, right?"</p><p>Turning unexpectedly, Darrow fixed him with those disconcerting eyes of his.  "That's something of an understatement, Detective Messer."</p><p>"Yes.  Yes, it is."  Now Danny felt foolish.  <em>I meant well, </em>he grumbled to himself - but the better side of his nature was far more generous.  <em>Cut the man some slack,</em> it said.  "Mac'll tell you I've a talent for those," Danny continued.  "Sorry, Agent Darrow."</p><p>"Joseph," the tall man sighed.  "I do wish you people would just call me Joseph.  Agent Darrow is nothing more than a failure in a black suit."</p><p>"You think you've failed?" said Mac, sounding surprised.</p><p>"Where your team is finally succeeding, yes."</p><p>"That's bull.  Pardon my French," Danny told him bluntly.  "If you hadn't come to us and shared all your hard work, we'd never have made the connection between Jack - or John, or whatever his real name is - and our 'friend', Mr. Piper.  Without you, that kid would have slipped through our fingers, and we'd never know what we lost, even after we lost it..."  Wait - did that even make sense?  <em>I'm rambling,</em> he realised.  Time to stop talking.</p><p>"This case is bigger than all of us," Mac added, summing up neatly.  Danny envied his ability to do that.  No muss, no fuss; no song and dance.  Just the plain facts, cutting through the nonsense with their clarity.  "Asking for help is the act of a brave man who chose to put the lives of all those kids before his own pride."</p><p>As Mac let his generous statement linger, he led the way from the crowded bullpen.  Holding the door, he ushered first Darrow, then Danny, through to the relative calm of a poorly-lit corridor.  Cheap bulbs made for comfortable shadows, sometimes.</p><p>"Thank you," Darrow said, unable to look him in the eye - and both men knew that he was referring to more than Mac's simple display of good manners.</p><p>Clearing his throat, Danny drove away any awkwardness before it had the chance to gain a foothold in the conversation.  "There's Hawkes," he told them, in a cheery tone that suggested: <em>we're done with all that.  Let's move on.</em></p><p>"Nice stalling tactics," Mac muttered, staring through the window.</p><p>Danny grinned and entered.  "Doc," he said, "you do realise there's a 'no food' policy in the interview rooms?  Very serious offence, eatin' take-out in here.  Even Flack won't risk it."</p><p>Both Hawkes and the goth kid froze.  Jack - John? - had a fistful of fries halfway up to his mouth and they dangled from his fingers as he stared at the three men in the doorway.  The burger box on the table was empty but the scent remained, like the ghost of a meal, making Danny feel hungrier than ever.</p><p>"Kidding," he smirked, and reached out to snaffle the rest of Hawkes' fries.  He winked at the teenage boy, who glared back suspiciously.  "Okay.  Good to see we're all gettin' along."</p><p>Hawkes shook his head ever so slightly.  Danny felt a twinge of pity, and an even smaller twinge of guilt - which didn't last.  "John, this is my boss, Detective Mac Taylor, and this is... Joseph Darrow."  Too many revelations all at once could be dangerous.  Danny knew that pop culture hadn't done the FBI many favours in the image stakes, and this kid might just freak if he heard the word 'agent'.</p><p>"My name's Jack, not John."  The boy held Danny's gaze and rammed the fries into his mouth.</p><p>"Hey, my mistake." Danny sat down on the table.  Turning aside, he directed the next question to Hawkes instead.  "How'd it go with the ID?"</p><p>"He fingered Allan straight away.  No hesitation."</p><p>Jack swallowed his fries and looked smug.  Mac stepped forward.</p><p>"Thank you for that," the detective said.  "Before you go, there's one more thing we need to talk about."</p><p>"All of you?" Jack said dubiously.  He licked his greasy fingers and stabbed them in Hawkes' direction.  "What's wrong with <em>him</em>?  We were doin' just fine till the rest of you got here.  Four against one - that ain't fair, right?  Do I need, like, a lawyer or somethin'?"</p><p>"You could've had your mother here."  Danny shrugged.  "Anne Fowler, wasn't that her name?  Thing is, though, <em>Jack</em>... we couldn't find her.  Seems you gave my friend some bad information.  Want to change your story?"</p><p>"It's not a story.  It's the truth."</p><p>"John."  Mac stood before him and his eyes were kind.  "We <em>know </em>the truth."</p><p>"My name's <em>Jack</em>.  Jack Fowler, okay; don't you get it?"  The boy's tone was shrill.  He rose to his feet and gestured at Darrow, who still hovered in the doorway, blocking it entirely.  "Let me out of here.  I'm leavin'.  This ain't right..."</p><p>"Sit down," Darrow said.</p><p>Jack sat.</p><p>The three men stared at the FBI agent.  They had never heard him speak like that before.  He didn't shout but his voice held such authority that even Danny felt compelled to obey him, sliding from the table onto a nearby chair.</p><p>"Thank you."  Darrow smiled as he moved to join them.  Only Mac remained standing.  He drew back and let the scene unfold, watching quietly.</p><p>It seemed impossible to Danny, but Jack's white face had grown even paler.  All of his teenage bravado had disappeared.  Much to the agent's credit, he didn't press his advantage.  His voice was gentle when he spoke again.  This was a child, after all, and a victim.</p><p><em>I like your style,</em> Danny thought.</p><p>"We have your fingerprints," Darrow said.  "We know who you are, beyond all doubt.  John, my name is <em>Agent</em> Darrow, and I've been searching for you ever since you disappeared.  Trust me, you've no idea how glad I am to see you here..."  <em>'Alive' </em>was the unspoken word that lingered in the air.  Jack swallowed.</p><p>"I'm not in trouble, then?"</p><p>"No."  Darrow shook his head.  "No trouble.  How would you like to go home, John?"</p><p>The boy stiffened.  Danny could see his fear made physical in the tightness of his neck.  His fingers were rigid, like claws.  "What?" he croaked.  "Home?  No..."</p><p>Hawkes laid a hand on his arm, and he twitched but did not pull away.  "It's okay," the doctor said, full of concern.</p><p>"John," said Darrow.  "I can take you back.  Do you want that?"</p><p>Jack stared at him with huge eyes, pleading - but was his answer 'yes' or 'no'?  Danny thought he could guess, and it made him feel sad.</p><p>"Did you leave of your own accord?" Mac said from his silent corner, "or were you taken?"</p><p>The boy pressed his lips together.</p><p>"What did Allan do to you?" Danny murmured.</p><p>Jack leaned across the table and whispered fearfully.  "I can't tell you..."</p><p>From that moment on, though they questioned him as kindly as they could, he refused to speak another word.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Playing games was easier than trying to think too deeply.  Deep down, Thomas knew that in order to protect Adam, he was going to have to come up with some kind of plan.  He couldn't keep the boy hidden in his house forever, tempting though that was.  To Adam, no doubt, the whole thing appeared to be simple.  He had achieved his goal - running away from his father - and now he felt safe.</p><p><em>But you're not, </em>Thomas sighed, as he watched the boy set up the chess board between them on the carpet.  <em>Not yet.  Not by a long shot...</em></p><p>"White or black?" was all he said out loud.</p><p>"You c'n be white," Adam decided.  He laid out the pieces with precision, setting each on in the centre of its little square and turning its face towards the opposing lines.  Thomas was impressed.  "Well done," he said.  "So, the black king..."</p><p>"...goes there."  Adam popped the wooden figure into position.  "Now he c'n stare at the white king and make him nervous."</p><p>"That's how you remembered it?"</p><p>"Mm-hm.  And also, it feels right, you know?"  His smile was eager.  "I like patterns."</p><p>"And winning?" Thomas said slyly, resting a hand on the white king's pawn.  He slid the piece forward two spaces and the battle began.</p><p>They played in silence for a while.  Thomas had fully intended to go easy on the boy and let him win, in order to boost his confidence, but it wasn't long before he realised how pointless that would be.  Adam wasn't the one who was struggling.  Thomas could feel the match slipping away from him as, one by one, his pieces left the board, vanquished by a giggling foe.</p><p>Feeling much more motivated all of a sudden, he applied himself with a will and, three moves later, he managed to capture Adam's queen.</p><p>"That's okay," the boy said, and he slid his knight around a sneaky corner to return the favour.</p><p>Only then did Thomas see that Adam had led him right into a trap.</p><p>"You're good," he said with genuine admiration.  "When I played this with you before... that was really your first time?"</p><p>Adam nodded, looking worried.  "I said so," he promised fervently.  "Didn't I?"</p><p>Thomas hastened to reassure him.  "Adam, I'm not criticising you.  I'm paying you a compliment.  You're killing me here."</p><p>"I'm sorry..."  Frightened, Adam pulled his hand away from the board altogether and sat back.</p><p><em>And I'm so bad at this,</em> Thomas thought, cursing his poor choice of words.  "No; that's an expression, okay?  Perhaps not the best one I could have used, but...  I just meant that you're winning.  Look..."  He hesitated.  How did you explain things to a child?  And was it really his place to be offering advice?  Yet if he didn't, right now, who else would tell this boy what he needed to hear?  "Maybe you should try not to let other people upset you so much.  I don't mean your dad."  Staring at the boy, he willed him to understand.  "When he hurts you, Adam, that's wrong and there's no excusing it.  He's said some terrible things about you, but that doesn't make them true - and it doesn't mean everyone else is thinking them too.  Don't you know that?"</p><p>"Sometimes."  Adam's reply was so quiet that Thomas could barely hear it.</p><p>"Sometimes.  Okay, that's a start.  Adam, you're an amazing kid.  And I'm not saying that just to make you feel better.  You're clever and funny, and so kind-hearted.  Don't believe anyone who tells you differently.  I'm very glad to be your friend."</p><p>"You are?"</p><p>"Yes, I am."</p><p>"Mister Thomas..."  Adam shuffled on his cushions.  "Can I ask you something?"</p><p>"Of course you can," Thomas replied, with far more confidence in his tone than he actually felt.  "Ask me anything."</p><p>"Why are you here all alone?  You said... you said you'd left 'it' all behind, and I wondered... I just wondered..."  The words came out all in a rush.  "You know, I wondered what you meant and if you like being alone, and why you're helping me..."  Adam peered through his lashes.  "Is that okay?"</p><p>Such innocent questions - and how on earth had Adam come to pick the subject that pained Thomas so very much; a gaping wound in his heart that he could not bring himself to contemplate?  Most of the time, he slid his gaze around it, denying its presence and telling himself that he was whole, and happy.  Until a little boy challenged him outright and forced him to look at it properly.</p><p>Thomas leapt to his feet.  The chess board wobbled and the pieces tumbled into disarray.  "I'm sorry," he offered.  "I... no."</p><p>And he fled from the room, not daring to glance behind him and see the expression on poor Adam's face.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Stella looked up from her monitor and gave a sly grin.</p><p>"Lindsay," she said.  "I think someone's trying to get your attention."</p><p>Turning, Lindsay had to smile.  If Adam was going for subtlety, then he was failing miserably.  He hovered in the corridor outside, wearing the kind of face that little Lindsay Monroe used to wear on Christmas morning when her parents would insist upon eating breakfast <em>before</em> opening all the presents.  Adam's body language was fidgety and his hair was even more on end than usual.  She half-expected him to say 'pssst', as he beckoned to her through the glass.</p><p>"You may be right," Lindsay admitted to Stella, who seemed to find the whole situation amusing.  "I guess he didn't like to interrupt us.  Maybe you intimidate him."  She offered a grin of her own.</p><p>"No, that would be Mac."  Stella herself waved the lab tech into the room as she spoke.  "I'm very approachable - isn't that right, Adam?"</p><p>"Hnh?" said the young man, looking from one woman to the other.  Really, teasing him was just so easy.  Lindsay wondered how long it had taken Danny Messer to discover this unlucky fact.</p><p>
  <em>Ten seconds, probably.</em>
</p><p>"What do you need?" she asked Adam.</p><p>"You," he said promptly.  "Unless you're busy?  I mean, I can try and find someone else who doesn't mind...  The thing is, Detective Taylor left in a hurry and he kinda took my babysitter with him."</p><p>"Really?  He left with Agent Darrow?"  Stella's interest was piqued.  "Any idea where they went?"</p><p>"To the precinct, I think."  Adam shrugged.  Like Lindsay, he was still new to the established flow of information at the lab and, no doubt, he was afraid to divulge any more facts in case he crossed a line.  Instead, he turned the conversation back to the problem that had driven him here in the first place.  "Look, I'm not supposed to play the game on my own - but I <em>have</em> to keep going."  Lindsay watched with interest as his face turned a fascinating shade of pink.  "I... things are getting tricky right now and I don't want to blow it.  I <em>can't</em>..."</p><p>The two women traded glances.  "Go," Stella told Lindsay, her fingers straying towards the cell phone that lay on her desk.  "I'll keep working here."</p><p>Adam's relief was written all over his face.  Relaxing, he smiled at them both; a radiant, grateful smile that far outshone the simple favour they had granted him.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>With Lindsay at his heels, Adam scurried along to the AV lab.  So much time had elapsed already - <em>far</em> too much, he suspected.  "Thank you for this," he told the CSI.  "I'll see if I can find a proper save point, and then you can go back to what you were doing."</p><p>"No problem.  So, tell me - what's with all the urgency?  Did you meet the Piper yet?"</p><p>"What?  Oh, no; it's not that.  I just...  The thing is..."</p><p>How could he explain?</p><p>Adam took a deep breath and tried to calm down.  <em>Keep it simple,</em> he decided.  He could tell part of the truth, at least, with no fear of discovery.  Lindsay was perceptive - that much he had learned about her already - but Adam knew how to be evasive when the need arose.  And, right now, he <em>needed </em>to protect himself.  Things that were meant to stay hidden had already started to leak out into this new life of his.  Time to follow Mac's advice.  Time to take control.</p><p>
  <em>Your past is part of who you are.  Use it, Adam...</em>
</p><p>"Elfie is starting to push," he said at last.  "She wants to know more, I think.  About me; or rather, our friend Boo.  The fake me.  That's pretty serious, right?"</p><p>Lindsay had waited in silence, but now she nodded.  "It is.  Adam, what are you going to tell her?"</p><p>"Oh," he said carefully.  "I have some ideas."</p><p>They sat down together at the workstation.  Lindsay lowered the chair, which had been cranked up so high that her feet dangled off the floor.  "Agent Darrow?" she guessed, with a wink, as Adam watched her comical endeavour.  "He's a tall one."</p><p>"You can say that again.  I feel like a little kid, just standing next to him."  Adam giggled, embarrassed by his own confession, but enjoying the joke nonetheless.</p><p>"What do you think of him?" Lindsay asked, full of curiosity.  "You've spent more time with him than I have.  What's your honest opinion?"</p><p>Adam was flattered by her question.  He stared at the screen as he considered.  "I like him, okay?  He's a kind man.  He notices things...  Maybe that's his FBI training; I don't know.  But those kids...  This case...  It really matters to him, and I think that's great.  Don't you?" he ventured shyly.</p><p>"I certainly do."  Following the direction of his gaze, Lindsay caught sight of Boo's half-finished statement.  To Adam's great relief, she chose not to comment.  Instead, she gave him an encouraging smile and sat there quietly, waiting for him to make his next move.</p><p><em>Here we go, then, </em>he thought with some trepidation, as he reached for the keyboard.  <em>You can do this, Adam Ross...</em></p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Boo snapped out of his daze.  "I'm sorry too," he said to Elfie.  "Are you still there?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her bright eyes were disconcerting.  Was there nothing at all behind them?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I didn't mean to shout at you," he continued.  "I was angry and I lashed out.  Please come back..."</em>
</p><p>"You shouted?" Lindsay asked him, trying to catch up and feeling as though she had missed something vital.</p><p>Adam kept his eyes fixed upon the little jester.  "Kind of.  Sometimes, when you're in the middle of a game..."</p><p>"You get sucked in," she finished for him.  "I understand.  And I'm sure she'll come back."</p><p>"I hope so," he said fervently.  "If she doesn't, I get to face a whole new challenge."</p><p>"Owning up to Mac?"</p><p>"<em>Oh</em> yeah..."  His tone was rueful.  "Wait - Lindsay!  Look, you were right.  She <em>is</em> back.  Guess you're my good luck charm."  He peered at her sideways.  "You do know that means you're gonna have to stay here forever, right?"</p><p>"Ha ha.  Very funny, Adam."</p><p>Adam's shoulders twitched in a tiny shrug.  "Go, Team Newbie," he whispered...</p><p>
  <em>Time folded in on itself.  Elfie smiled at Boo as though nothing untoward had happened, and neither one of them had ever been absent from the conversation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"We need to move on," she said.  "Pan is waiting for you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What?"  Boo was startled.  "What do you mean?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I spoke to him.  He knows you're coming and he wants to meet you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"That's crazy.  I've only just got here.  He doesn't know me at all."<br/></em>
</p><p>
  <em>"But he wants to."  Elfie pointed to a wooden signpost, bristling with directions.  Had that even been there, a moment ago?  "In the town square.  That's where he's going to meet us..."</em>
</p><p>"Oh, God."  Adam was freaking out.  "Oh, God.  It's really happening."</p><p>"What did you expect?" Lindsay asked him gently.  "I thought that was the plan.  You know, the point of the whole thing?  The hours you've spent on it - what were you thinking, exactly?"</p><p>"I was thinking about Ruth Eggar."</p><p>His simple honesty made her long to reach out and hug him.  She didn't, of course.  This was the New York Crime Lab, after all, where impulsive displays of camaraderie were hardly the order of the day.  "Ruth," she said.  "Yes.  I met her brother."</p><p>And that was enough.  They stared at each other in silence and, oddly, when their gaze broke apart, Lindsay knew that shared look had been far more comforting than any hug could ever hope to be.</p><p>Adam squared his shoulders and returned to the game...</p><p>
  <em>"Is he dangerous?" Boo said nervously.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elfie spun on her toes, like a tiny ballerina, and smiled at him.  "He's Pan the Piper," she said, as though that explained everything.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Skipping along in front of him, she led Boo through the ancient town towards their new destination. The wooden buildings, which had loomed over them with such dark menace, now began to spread out as the cobbled streets grew wider, creating a sense of light and space that was utterly compelling.  It drew them steadily onwards; the jester and her wary companion.  Dust motes danced in the long rays - or were they little spinning creatures?  One winked right past Boo and a tinkling laugh brushed against the edge of his hearing...</em>
</p><p>"Guess we're not in Kansas anymore," Adam murmured, much to Lindsay's amusement.</p><p>"Look," she said, pointing ahead.  "The square's full of people.  Are those... avatars?"</p><p>"I don't know."  He was barely listening to her and, for a split second, she felt as though she herself had become the avatar in a fake world.  Aurora was now the reality.  <em>Stop it,</em> she told herself firmly, and made a silent vow to keep a closer eye on Adam, rather than Boo, as he ventured deep into the heart of the Piper's snare.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Adam's heart was beating so quickly, he began to fear that Lindsay would hear it and think him a coward.  This was a game; just a <em>game</em>.  What on earth was he scared of?</p><p>His fingers slipped on the keyboard, pausing the whole thing.  In order to cover himself, he studied the frozen scene before him with interest, before moving to undo the accidental spell...</p><p>
  <em>A tributary of the river seemed to run right through the town square, splitting it neatly in two.  People in fanciful faux-medieval costumes had gathered on both sides, and some even stood on the neat wooden bridges that curved from one bank to the other.  Their view was the best, but even Boo could see the top of the brightly coloured pavilion, with its rippling flag.  It was pitched in the very centre of the square, beside the rushing water, and its red and yellow stripes were vivid in the sunlight.  Chimes hung all around the tent, their random music eerie and disturbing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"There?" he said to Elfie.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"There," she confirmed.  "Go on, Boo.  I told you before - there's no need to be afraid."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You're not coming with me?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No," she told him.  "This is your quest, not mine.  I'm not the hero of this tale.  I'm just Simple Elfie."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Will you be here when I come back?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead of answering, she waved him onward...</em>
</p><p>"<em>You'll</em> help me, won't you?" Adam said to Lindsay, watching the crowd part unexpectedly to let the cat-boy through.  It was all so easy; far easier than he had anticipated.  <em>Easier than it ought to be,</em> he thought, biting his lip in concern.</p><p>"If you need me," she promised.  "Have faith in yourself.  You can do this, Adam Ross."</p><p>Her words were like an echo in his head that mingled with the muttering of the crowd...</p><p>
  <em>...as Boo reached Pan's pavilion at last and lifted the curtain to step inside.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Thomas fled to the bathroom and locked the door.  "Against a seven year old boy," he told himself bitterly - but it was guilt and shame that drove him, not fear.  He felt an overwhelming urge to hide away; to crawl into a hole so small that no one would ever find him.  He had travelled halfway across the world to escape his past, but it wasn't enough.  Fate really did have a twisted sense of humour.</p><p>He sank to his knees on the old mat, crushed beneath the weight of all his choices, past and present.  "It's not fair," he muttered, feeling like a child himself, and petulant.  "I'm a good person."</p><p>Adam's blue eyes stared at him in his imagination.  <em>You're my friend,</em> said the little boy.  <em>Help me...</em></p><p>But there was another face as well, right behind the boy, and now the two were mingling.  Blue eyes turned to green and chestnut hair to long dark braids.  <em>Help me,</em> said the girl.</p><p>"I did."  Thomas clenched his jaw.  "I did try to help you, Sam.  And look what happened."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>London, 1975</strong>
</p><p>The girls' bathroom was a place of mystery; a no-go area.  Detention was the fate of any boy who dared to pass the threshold - detention, or worse.  Tortured by his indecision, Thomas hovered outside the door and listened to the muffled sobs.  He knew it was Sam.  He had followed her, skulking along the corridor, and watched her go inside.</p><p>"Katie Jones," he said fiercely.  "Has to be."  Katie was a bold and vengeful girl who liked to pick out a different victim every term, based on some little slight, and make their life a misery.  This term, it was Sam.  Her innate clumsiness had put her directly in Katie's line of fire when she knocked the tall girl over accidentally during gym class.  That was two weeks ago and, ever since then, Thomas had watched his friend shrink into herself, battered by an everlasting onslaught of mean pranks and sly remarks.  "Tell someone," Thomas implored Sam, but she was stubborn in her fear and refused to talk about her problem with anyone but him.</p><p>And now she was crying, all alone.  <em>Enough is enough, </em>he decided.  Laying a hand on the door, he pushed it open and slipped inside the bathroom.</p><p>"Sam?" he whispered.  "It's Tom.  What's the  matter?  What did she do to you this time?"</p><p>Sam had locked herself in a cubicle.  Her tumbling sobs dissolved into hiccups.  "Go 'way," she mumbled.  "'S none of your business."</p><p>Thomas tried his best not to take the comment personally, even as it stung his heart.  "Yes it is," he insisted.  "You're my friend and you're crying.  Was it Katie?"  He paused before continuing.  "Want me to deal with her?"</p><p>That got Sam's attention.  "Tom!" she gasped, and he heard the sound of a bolt drawing back.  "You can't fight her.  She's a girl."</p><p>"That's not what I meant," he protested, wondering if he was telling the absolute truth.  "But if you don't want me to talk to Katie, we could go to Mr. Finch instead."</p><p>"No!"</p><p>The cry was abrupt, and the bolt shot home again.  <em>Well done,</em> Thomas congratulated himself, feeling more than a little confused as he stared at the blank white door.  For a moment there, he had almost taken control of the situation - and then it had slipped right through his fingers.  "Why not?" he ventured cautiously.  "He's always nice to you.  He's your favourite teacher; you said so.  I'm sure he'd listen."</p><p>Sam's reply was so low that Thomas almost missed it.  "I don't like him being nice to me."</p><p>"What?"  He didn't understand, but the tone of her voice sent a cold shiver running down his back.  "What do you mean?  Look, open the door, Sam.  You're safe with me; you know that."</p><p>Slowly, by coaxing and commanding her in turn, he managed to convince the girl to leave the cubicle.  She crept out and they sat on the scuffed linoleum together.</p><p>"Now," Thomas said.  "Tell me properly.  Why are you crying?"  He knew Sam all too well.  The more upset she became, the more she clammed up.  It had to be something bad and he was determined to solve the mystery.</p><p>"I can't tell you."</p><p>"Is it Katie?"</p><p>Sam shook her head.</p><p>"Is it... is it Mr. Finch?"</p><p>She pressed her lips together, and he knew.</p><p>"What did he do to you?" Thomas growled, feeling a rush of anger so strong it almost overwhelmed him.</p><p>Tears spilled out from between her lashes and tumbled down her cheeks, landing on her pleated navy skirt, where they left a series of dark round stains.  Once again, she shook her head.  Her whole body was trembling by now.</p><p>Thomas clambered to his feet, full of teenage indignation.  "I'm going to ask him myself."</p><p>"No, please don't!"  She pulled him down again, her fist clamping around his trouser leg.  He fell to his knees in front of her.</p><p>"Sam..."</p><p>"It's embarrassing," she breathed.  "And it's my fault really, I know it is.  You mustn't...  There'll be such a dreadful row."</p><p>"Did he shout at you?"  Thomas lowered his voice.  All of a sudden, he felt old, and far too wise.  The world shrank around him, tightening its grip.  "Did he... touch you?"</p><p>The redness of her face told him everything he needed to know.  "That bastard," he said.  "Sam, we have to tell someone."</p><p>She shook her head violently.  "No."</p><p>He reached out and took hold of her arms; kindly, awkwardly.  "Yes," he whispered.  "I'll do it.  You won't have to say a word..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>The building was tall and plain.  Several brass plates adorned the entrance, each with a buzzer beside them.  Richard Allan pressed one of the top ones - of that, Flack was certain.  He wished he had thought to bring the camera with him when he left the car - the long range scope would have been particularly useful - but at the time he had been far too busy leaping to Kaile's defence in his usual gung-ho fashion.</p><p>"Top floor, Lewis and Bourne.  Law firm,"  Kaile said, gliding down the steps with compact grace and heading over to the spot where Flack was loitering.</p><p>"That's a possibility.  Maybe we're about to meet Allan's demon lawyer, face to face.  Next one down?"</p><p>"SmartTech Solutions.  I'm guessing some kind of geek business..."</p><p>"Hey," said Flack mildly.  "Don't knock the geeks.  Some of my best friends..."</p><p>"...are right up there with them; yes, I know."  Kaile grinned.  "Mine too.  Just ask Danny Messer if you don't believe me."  She raised an eyebrow coyly.  "Third option is a name.  Mr. Ferdinand Roper."</p><p>"Roper," Flack echoed, reaching for his cell phone.  "SmartTech.  Lewis and Bourne.  Whaddaya say, Detective Maka?  Time to do a little research of our own?"  And he matched her grin with an easy smile.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>"This is going straight to number one on my list of creepy moments," Adam muttered.</p><p>Lindsay was right there beside him, leaning in.  He couldn't imagine doing this without her support.  "Creepy is right.  Look, Adam, if this gets too much...  If you need to stop at any time, don't hesitate - and don't feel guilty.  I know Mac would say the same if he was here."</p><p>"Okay..."  Adam's reply tailed away as he narrowed his focus.  His was a stubborn - some might say pig-headed - kind of courage and right now he wore it like a suit of armour, concealing his fear.</p><p>Lindsay's words were kind and he was grateful for them but he also knew there would be no more hesitation...</p><p>
  <em>"Friend of Fizzle," Pan the Piper said.  "What brings you to my world?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The tall man was impossibly slender, like a reed, with knowing eyes and a restless way of moving that suggested his mood could fluctuate in the same random manner.  He wore a simple brown tunic that only served to exaggerate his narrow frame.  A rustic pipe hung from a leather cord around his neck.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I wanted to meet you," Boo told him honestly.  "Ruth...  Fizzle...  She said you could help me, like you promised to help her..." </em>
</p><p>"Adam!"  Startled, Lindsay rounded on him.  "Be careful!  You're going too fast."</p><p>"On purpose," he explained.  "I'm a kid, and I'm nervous to meet him, aren't I?  Trust me."</p><p>She sat back - contrite, not offended, he saw with relief.  "Okay.  Sorry.  You surprised me, that's all."</p><p>Adam gave a sudden, bright smile.  "Then hold onto your seat, Monroe, because we're just getting started."</p><p>"You sound like Danny," she accused him, but the way she said it, he could almost have sworn it was a back-handed compliment...</p><p>
  <em>"Interesting."  The Piper circled Boo in much the same way that a spider stalks a gullible fly that has blundered into its web.  "I'm flattered, of course - but I think perhaps you should explain yourself a little more clearly."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Fizzle disappeared.  She told me it was going to happen but she left too soon.  I wanted to go with her and she left me behind.  You have to help me - please."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Have to?"  All of a sudden, the Piper was right in front of Boo, his pale face looming close.  "What exactly do you know of me?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Boo faced him bravely.  "Nothing, really," he said, "but Fizzle trusts you and that's good enough for me.  She's clever and she knows about people.  I miss her," he admitted.  "She's the only one..."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"...who understands you?" Pan suggested.  With an enigmatic smile, he pulled away and sat down on a three-legged stool that appeared, as if from nowhere, in the centre of the pavilion.  Raising the pipe to his lips, he began to play; a simple, soothing tune.  The look on his face said that he was considering Boo's words.  Lulled by the music, the cat-boy waited...</em>
</p><p>"Do you think he's falling for it?" Lindsay breathed.</p><p>"I hope so.  Why are you whispering?"</p><p>Caught out, she giggled like a schoolgirl.  "Good question.  I guess...  You'll think I'm crazy but..."</p><p>"You didn't want him to hear you," Adam nodded.  "It's okay, Lindsay.  We're safe here."  He spoke firmly, trying to convince both himself and the woman beside him...</p><p>
  <em>"I'd like to believe you," Pan said, at last.  "The real world can be treacherous but here we deal in trust.  Tell me more."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"About what?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Tell me more about the pain."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Boo froze...</em>
</p><p>"Why aren't you answering him?"  Lindsay was studying Adam's face.  He could feel her gaze upon him, just as Pan was watching Boo.  Clinging to his self-control, he held up his fingers and counted down slowly in silence, his lips forming the shape of the numbers: <em>five... four... three... two... one...</em></p><p>
  <em>"What pain?"  Boo's answer was reluctant.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Elfie told me all about your brave solution to the riddle."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"She had no right to do that.  It's private.  I didn't want to say it, but I had to get through somehow."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pan shook his head with that same unreadable smile.  "She had every right.  Boo, this place is a sanctuary.  I need to know who you really are before I let you wander freely through my world.  But you're right - if you tell me the truth, maybe I can help you, just as I helped Fizzle..."</em>
</p><p>"Oh my God."  Lindsay's mouth fell open.  "He just confessed.  This is real."</p><p>"What did you expect?"  Adam's smile was subtle as he chose to use her own phrase, sending it back, like a mirror.  Common sense, reflected.  For once, it was his turn to be the voice of reason.  "After all this time - you didn't believe it?  What were <em>you</em> thinking, Lindsay?"</p><p>She flushed, recognising his tactic even as she felt its effectiveness.  "It just seems so outrageous.  A kids' game like this, breaking into the real world.  A cartoon character, stealing kids away like some monster in a fairy tale.  Adam..."</p><p>"I know."  He kept his tone quiet and serious.  "I see it too, okay?  But the story <em>is</em> real.  The Piper's a man.  And I need to convince him that I am what I claim to be."</p><p>Saying it out loud was scary.  Things were about to get personal - and complicated.  <em>I have to make the Piper think that I'm telling the truth.</em>  And, harder still: <em>I have to make Lindsay think that I'm lying.</em></p><p>No pressure, then.</p><p>Adam's fingers trembled ever so slightly as they returned to the keyboard...</p><p>
  <em>"I don't like talking about it," Boo confessed.  "Not to anyone but Fizzle.  She knows because she's the same."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"In what way?" Pan asked mildly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You're testing me," the cat-boy accused him, his words a rushing torrent, freed by emotion.  "You think I'm lying.  I'm not!  Her dad's a bully, a  mean, angry man, and so is mine.  Maybe he seems perfect to everyone else, but he hurts me, over and over, until I hate myself even more than I hate him.  I can't stand up to him because I'm too afraid that he'll just beat me so bad, I'll never get up again.  Every single day is full of pain, or the memory of pain."  He paused.  "Is that what you want to hear?  Are you going to tell me you don't believe me?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now it was the Piper's turn to freeze...</em>
</p><p>A lone tear quivered in the corner of Adam's eye.  He could feel its treacherous weight, and he blinked against it fiercely until it dissolved, unshed.  Not for the world would he let Lindsay see his distress.</p><p>Her silence beside him was worrying...</p><p>
  <em>His mind made up, Pan the Piper stirred back into life.  Rising from his stool, he knelt down in front of the cat-boy.  All at once, his smile seemed warm and full of sympathy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Boo, I believe you," he said.  "And I think I can help you.  Come back tomorrow."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There was no pantomime flash of light; no clichéd puff of smoke.  One moment Pan was there, the next he had vanished completely.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In his place, swirling lazily, the pipe remained.  Two glowing words hung beneath it, in mid-air...</em>
</p><p>"Save Point," Adam whispered, overcome by a profound sense of relief.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Adam stared at the scattered chess pieces.</p><p>Reaching out, he picked up the white knight.  "Black square," he muttered, his eyes tight with concentration as he turned his attention to the empty board.  His hand hovered in mid-air for a moment, wrapped tightly around the little wooden figure - then he set it down with care and absolute certainty.  There was a picture in his mind and he could see it clearly.  Pleased with his new game, he reached for another piece.</p><p>The absence of Mister Thomas felt like a hole in the room, so Adam blocked that hole by concentrating on his puzzle.  After a while, he found that he was starting to enjoy himself almost as much as he had during the match itself.  When the board was complete, he sat on his cushions and stared at it proudly.  Every piece was back where it had been when...</p><p>Adam swallowed.</p><p>He lifted his head and looked at the door, which was closed.  "Guess I blew it," he whispered, facing the ugly fact at last.</p><p>Fixing the game was easy.  Fixing things with Thomas would be harder.  Even so, he wasn't scared - not this time.  Thomas had made him a solemn promise and he trusted his new friend to keep it.</p><p>"Nothing'll hurt me," he said to himself with a serious expression on his face.  "I'm safe here."</p><p>Right now, Adam could tell, it was Mister Thomas who was hurting.</p><p>Sometimes, grown-ups liked to be alone; he knew that.  "Sorting my head out," his mother called it when she went into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.  Was Thomas sorting his head out?  Or was there some way for Adam to make him feel better?</p><p>"I don't know what to do," he sighed.  Staying on his cushions would be the easy option but Adam was starting to learn something new about taking the easy way out.  Hiding didn't make the bad things go away; it only made you think about it more.  If you wanted to change things, then you had to get up and face them.  You might still make a mistake but at least you would know in your heart that you had tried.</p><p>Pushing upwards, Adam struggled to his feet again.  The bandages helped.  They were soft, like slippers, especially since Thomas had padded them on the inside with cotton wool, which squished against his tender soles as he edged towards the door.</p><p><em>I'm walking on baby clouds,</em> Adam thought, fascinated by the new sensation.</p><p>On the other side of the door, there was silence.  Adam turned the handle carefully and pulled it open, just a crack.  He peered through.  There was no sign of Mister Thomas.  Adam felt a stinging flash of fear - was he all alone in the house?  Had his friend run out and left him?</p><p><em>No,</em> he thought, calming himself down and pushing the bad thought away.  <em>He's still here.  All you have to do is find him.  And when you tell him 'sorry', everything will be alright and you can finish the game, like nothing ever happened.</em></p><p>Hope bloomed within him; warm, like the sunbeams that streamed through the nearby window.  Adam passed through the long rays, comforted even more by the sight of his little golden friends, the dust motes.  "You're here too," he greeted them happily - then pushed on, unwilling to be distracted from his important mission.</p><p>Passing several open doors that whispered to him - 'not in here' - Adam arrived at the bathroom and found his way blocked.</p><p>He pressed his ear against the door and listened.  Inside, he could hear someone breathing, in-out, in-out; quickly, as though they were frightened.</p><p>"Mister Thomas," he called out, feeling so sorry for his friend that it twisted his gut like a stomach-ache.  "It's Adam.  Please let me in..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Mac left the elevator with Agent Darrow close behind him.  He had barely taken three steps into the Crime Lab when he was ambushed - but not by the person he had been expecting.</p><p>Stella had already grilled him by phone, catching him in the Avalanche, <em>en route </em>to the precinct with Darrow and Danny Messer.  Mac knew full well that she would have been on tenterhooks ever since then, waiting to hear the full story of Jack and his hidden identity.  Smiling, he found himself looking forward to sharing the details with her - over a well-earned cup of coffee, if he had any say in the matter.  He scanned the corridors for her curly hair - a sure-fire way to spot her at a distance - and caught sight of her almost at once, striding out of the bullpen.</p><p>But Stella had been pre-empted, and by a rookie, no less.  It was Adam Ross who saw Mac first, making him wonder just how long the young man had been watching the elevator, waiting for his return.  With a fearlessness that was quite surprising, given their recent exchanges, Adam came bouncing out of the AV lab with Lindsay at his heels.  He appeared to be very excited about something.</p><p>A quick glance at Lindsay warned Mac that she was a little more subdued, but he had no time to wonder why, as Adam launched into what threatened to be a long and complicated story, making Mac frown as he tried to keep up.</p><p>"Boss...  Mac!  You're back; thank goodness.  At least - okay, you know you're back, but you don't know this and you really need to..."</p><p>"Get to the point, Adam," Mac said heavily.  He didn't want to squash the new guy's enthusiasm - actually, it made him smile a little on the inside - but for heaven's sake; if Adam was going to preface every single discovery with this kind of rambling introduction...  "Useful words.  Short sentences."</p><p>"Don't tell us you found the Piper?" Darrow guessed, clearly trying to save the young man from any further embarrassment.</p><p>"Better," Adam said, folding his arms and obeying Mac's order.  "I met him."</p><p>Stella had reached the group by this point.  Standing behind the oblivious lab tech, she raised her eyebrows.  <em>Am I intruding?</em></p><p>Mac shook his head imperceptibly.  <em>Stay.</em></p><p>Underneath the glow of excitement in Adam's eyes, there was something else, he realised - a shell-shocked, disbelieving kind of look that the young man was bravely trying to mask with his exuberance.</p><p>"You <em>met</em> him?" Mac persisted.</p><p>"Yes, sir."  Once again, a simple answer, just as he had been instructed.</p><p>"Adam was amazing," Lindsay said, entering the conversation at last.  The lab tech flushed at her words.  "He actually managed to convince the Piper that he was another abused kid, in need of help.  Almost had me too - and I was sitting right next to him!"</p><p>Mac thought that he was beginning to understand.</p><p>"I followed your advice," Adam told him carefully.  "Turns out you were right - thanks, Boss.  The Piper wants to meet me... well, you know, the fake me... again tomorrow.  I told him I was a friend of Ruth Eggar, okay?  That seemed like the best way to speed up the process.  If I acted like I knew everything already, there'd be no beating around the bush, and maybe he'd just want to 'help' me straight away, like he 'helped' her.  Lure him out of hiding and we can catch him, right?"  His shrug was a tiny thing, considering the scale of his achievement.  "Guess he fell for it.  Maybe he isn't that clever after all."</p><p>"Or maybe he's going to check out your story with Ruth, if he still has her."</p><p>Stella's logic struck them all like a heavy blow.  Adam whirled around, surprised to find her standing right behind him.  "Oh," he said unhappily.  "I never thought of that..."</p><p>"I did," Lindsay admitted.  "But isn't it worth the risk?"</p><p>"It is.  In my humble opinion."  Darrow's deep voice made the simple phrase sound like a final judgement.</p><p>Adam shot him a look of pure gratitude.  Then he turned to Mac, and Mac alone.  "What do you want me to do, Boss?  Tomorrow, I mean?  Do you want me to play along?  You know, let things go further?"</p><p>"It's not about what <em>I </em>want, Adam."  Mac folded his arms.  "It's about you..."</p><p>"I can handle this," Adam interrupted, stung.</p><p>"I know you can.  That's not what I mean.  You've done a great job; Lindsay is right.  But there <em>are</em> people who are trained for this kind of thing - interacting with paedophiles and other suspects online..."</p><p>"No."</p><p>The steel in Adam's voice was new.  Mac was glad to hear it.  Satisfied for now, he brushed away the rest of his concern for Adam's emotional state and bowed to what he sensed was the young man's need to finish what he started.</p><p>"Very well," he agreed.  "With one condition.  When you talk to the Piper tomorrow, <em>I'll</em> be sitting by your side."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Questions were queuing up in Stella's head, jostling for position.  Safe within the glass walls of Mac's office, she let out the first one.  "You really think Adam can handle the pressure?  He seems a little..."  She searched for a tactful word.  "Sensitive."</p><p>"I trust him, Stella.  He's taken it this far.  Maybe a little sensitivity is what we need, in this case."</p><p>"And you'll be right there to keep an eye on him?"</p><p>"Something like that," Mac admitted with a wry grin.  He folded his arms, waiting.  "Next question?"</p><p>Stella had to laugh.  "You know me too well.  Okay then - I'll ask.  Jack Fowler.  How did it go?  Is he really one of Darrow's missing kids?"</p><p>Clearly and concisely, Mac filled her in.  She listened in silence, absorbing the facts and considering their implication.  "Stockholm Syndrome?" she suggested, when he paused for breath.  "Identifying with his captor to the point that he becomes confused about his own situation?"</p><p>"It's a possibility."  Mac nodded.  "Whatever the problem, he flatly refuses to talk.  Right now, I've got Danny and Hawkes processing him, down at the precinct.  They'll bring back his clothes and his scooter.  I hate to play it that way - trust is definitely an issue with this kid - but we need to find some trace that will answer our questions instead."</p><p>"Poor boy."  Stella felt a wave of sympathy.  "After I called you, I looked at the details of his case.  Safe to say, he has no viable home to go back to - both his parents are in prison for the long haul.  You know what that means."  She sighed.</p><p>"I do."  <em>And so do you,</em> said the look in Mac's eyes, but he kept any further comments to himself.  Stella was grateful for his forbearance.  Sometimes, the past was so hard to think about.  This case was overwhelming enough without adding the weight of her personal baggage.  She did allow herself one last moment of pity for Jack, and his uncertain future.  Then she pushed the thought away.  He was safe, and free from the Piper's clutches.  Right now, surely, that was all that mattered.</p><p>One down.  Thirty seven to go...</p><p><em>We can do this,</em> she told herself grimly.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Joseph Darrow dragged his gaze up from the empty Styrofoam cup that sat before him on the break room table.</p><p>"Mind if I join you?" the young man repeated.  In his hands, he held not one, but two steaming mugs of fresh coffee.</p><p>Darrow's nose twitched.</p><p>"Thank you, Adam," he said.  "I'd appreciate that.  Not everyone wants to share a table with the FBI.  It's a curious stigma - we're on the same side, after all."</p><p>"Blame the movies," Adam said cheerfully, sliding into his seat and using one of the full mugs to slide the empty cup out of the way, replacing it neatly.  Darrow wrapped his hands around it with relief.  The warmth spread through his fingers and his palms.  He held them there until he could hardly bear the sting, listening to the sound of Adam's voice as the lab tech gabbled on.  "Except, you know, 'The X-Files'.  You guys are pretty cool in that show.  Hunting aliens..."  His sideways glance was friendly; probing.  "You okay?"</p><p>The question came out of the blue.  Darrow looked at him in surprise.  "I'm fine.  Why do you ask?"</p><p>Adam shrugged, and took a sip of his coffee.  "Big day."</p><p>"For all of us."</p><p>"I guess..."  The blue eyes narrowed, and dropped.  "We got lucky, right?"</p><p>"This was more than luck," Darrow told him emphatically.  He grinned.  "I'm wishing I had all of you on my team from the start.  Ever thought about joining the FBI yourself, Adam Ross?"</p><p>There was a cough and a splutter beside him.  Calmly, Darrow pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the table.  Adam set down his mug.  "You're kidding," the young man ventured.</p><p>"I am."  Darrow nodded, his grin even wider.  "You're better off here, I'd say."  He balled up the ruined handkerchief and stuffed it into his Styrofoam cup.  "I like your boss."</p><p>"Me too."  Hesitating, Adam ran a hand through his hair.  "Look, thanks, alright?  For, you know - earlier.  Mac said you went and found..."</p><p>Darrow stopped him with a raised palm.  It was almost painful to watch the young man's efforts to explain himself without actually stating what happened.  "Everyone has issues," he offered quietly.</p><p>"Even the FBI?"</p><p><em>Humour,</em> Darrow thought.  A good sign.  "Especially the FBI.  Your boss - he helped you?"</p><p>Adam's brow furrowed as he considered his reply.  "He made sense.  There's... a lot to deal with.  No quick fix, right?"  He shrugged.  "Except for the Piper.  Look, Agent Darrow..."</p><p>"Joseph," Darrow said patiently.</p><p>"Joseph.  Do you think he really is trying to help those kids?  Or is he, you know, a monster?  You've met him."</p><p>"Richard Allan."  Just speaking the name of his nemesis made bile rise up and sting the back of Darrow's throat, almost choking him.  "That man wouldn't help a little old lady cross the street.  There's not an ounce of genuine kindness in him; that much, I can promise you, Adam.  He's a monster, through and through.  Don't ever question that."</p><p>The lab tech stared at him, and his face was white.  Too late, Darrow realised why.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he said.  "You're safe here.  Anonymous.  Nothing to fear."</p><p>"I hope so," Adam said, clearly trying to recover his equilibrium in front of the FBI agent.  He laughed, to show that he was joking, but neither man was convinced by his feeble attempt.  Not really.</p><p>They finished their coffee in silence.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Chapter 29</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>London, 1975</strong>
</p><p>Thomas never saw the pair of eyes that watched him as he slipped out of the girls' bathroom with his reluctant friend in tow.  Leading Sam up to her dormitory by the safest route, he left her there, in linen-scented silence, to recover herself.  Then he clenched his fists and set off back down to the headmaster's office.  Passing the senior common room on his way, he could hear the low buzz of cheerful voices through the closed door.  The sound made him feel quite strange, as though, by sharing in Sam's ugly secret, he had slipped into some kind of alternate dimension, filled with faint echoes of the real world.</p><p>"Don't be stupid," he muttered to himself.  "You're helping a friend, that's all.  Mr. Garriman will know what to do."</p><p>During school hours, the headmaster's inner sanctum was fiercely guarded by its own personal gatekeeper.  Luckily for Thomas, six o' clock had come and gone, which meant that Miss Blanchard had already left, as she did at precisely the same time every evening.  Her immaculate desk, with its leather-bound datebook and fierce little lamp, was no threat without the Gorgon that usually lurked behind it.  Thomas marched straight through Miss Blanchard's domain, looking far more confident than he usually felt, and knocked on Mr. Garriman's dark, wooden door.</p><p><em>Please be in there,</em> he begged silently.</p><p>"Come," said a muffled voice.</p><p>Dizzy with a mixture of relief and apprehension, Thomas obeyed.  The door creaked when he pushed it open.  Mr. Garriman was standing by the window, on the other side of the room.  There was a glass in his hand, half full of amber-coloured liquid that glowed as the evening light filtered through it.  A bottle sat on the window ledge beside him, also half full.  The headmaster's face was a disturbing silhouette.  Thomas blinked, and tried to work some moisture back into his dry throat.  "Um," he began.</p><p>Mr. Garriman sighed.  "You shouldn't be here," he said.  "I was expecting Finch.  Pupils aren't allowed in the North Wing after six.  What is it...?"  The rest of his sentence fell away as he searched his memory and came up empty.</p><p>"Thomas, sir.  Thomas Lawson."</p><p>Garriman shook his head.  "I knew that, boy.  Don't presume to correct your elders.  I take it this is a matter of the utmost importance?"  The headmaster's tone was challenging and, for a moment, nerves stripped Thomas of his senses.</p><p>What was he doing here?</p><p>"Um," he said again.</p><p>The headmaster moved away from the window.  Now his expression was plain to see - and it was not a happy one.  He squinted at the boy in front of him.</p><p>"You're wasting my time," he warned, every syllable wrapped in the warm, cloying smell of whisky.  "I'd leave now, if I were you."</p><p>"No.  Wait!"  Finally, the words came flooding out of him, so full of urgency that Thomas could barely control them.  "Mr. Finch - he's the one, you see.  I need to tell you, before he gets here.  It's bad, sir, really bad, and you need to know..."</p><p>"Need to know what?" said a pleasant voice behind him; a voice he knew well.  It belonged to a man he had always admired; a fair man, a good man, the kind of man he wished that he could be some day...</p><p>A man who was the enemy, it seemed.</p><p>"Ah, Finshhh," said the headmaster, slurring badly as he raised his glass in a gesture of welcome.  "Lawson here was just about to enlighten me.  Concerning you, he says.  Must be serious; look at his face.  Go on, Lawson.  We're all waiting."</p><p><em>Help me,</em> Thomas thought.  <em>I'm trapped in the middle. </em> He felt small, and utterly powerless.</p><p>And then, just when things couldn't get any worse, he saw the girl who was standing behind Mr. Finch, smiling sweetly.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>"Please, Mister Thomas," Adam begged.  He fidgeted, shifting his weight from one bound foot to the other.  "I put the pieces back, okay?"  The words were random, just something to say as he stared at the blank white door.</p><p>On the other side, in the invisible room, there was silence.</p><p>"Thomas?" Adam said fearfully.  When breathing stopped, it was bad, he knew...</p><p>The door swung open.</p><p>"Oh!" he cried, gazing up at the man who stood before him.  Instinct warned him to flinch, but somehow he managed to resist.  Instead, he reached out his hand, palm up, fingers curling loosely.  "Come and play," he said.  "I promise I won't ask any more questions."</p><p>Thomas knelt down and took the offered hand.  "Adam, I'm sorry.  Your questions weren't the problem.  I shouldn't have run off like that."  There was a gleam in his eye that spoke of tears unshed.</p><p>"Sometimes," Adam whispered, "running helps."</p><p>Thomas gave him a wobbly grin.  "And sometimes it doesn't."</p><p>"I know," the boy said solemnly.  "Is it very bad?" he ventured.</p><p>"Is... what?"</p><p>"The thing that's making you sad.  Is it...?"  Adam shuddered briefly, as he spoke the difficult words.  "Is it your daddy?"</p><p>Thomas let go of Adam's hand and sank down even lower, until he was sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor.  Carefully, Adam sat down in front of him, mirroring his posture exactly.  The open doorway rose up between them - <em>like a force-field,</em> Adam thought, <em>and I have to get through somehow.  Then I can help Mister Thomas, like he helped me.</em></p><p>"It's not my daddy," Thomas said at last.  "I don't... it's not the sort of thing I can really describe to a little boy like you."</p><p>"I'm not little," Adam grumbled, puffing out his chest in a vain attempt to make himself look bigger.  "I know stuff."</p><p>Thomas gave an unexpected laugh.  "Yes, you do," he admitted.  Pausing, he looked down at his long hands, turning them over to study the whorls and callouses, as though he had never seen them before.  "Okay, then," he said at last, much to Adam's relief.  "I'll try and explain what happened to me in a way you'll understand..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>"I'm startin' to get that déjà vu thing," Flack complained, shifting in the passenger seat and staring out of the window with a moody expression.</p><p>"You know why that is, right?" Danny said.  Flack held up his hand.</p><p>"Don't.  Don't floor me with some weird-ass scientific explanation.  It's too early in the day, Messer."</p><p>"What I was <em>goin'</em> to say," Danny went on, with a twisted little grin, "was that it's easy to get déjà vu when you've been here before.  Though I hope you're not suggestin' I remind you of your <em>girlfriend</em>?"</p><p>"What - Kaile Maka?  Be serious.  Anyhow, the way I hear it, she's got a thing for you."</p><p>The thought was flattering, but Danny shrugged it off.  "Nah.  We're just good friends.  She's not my type."</p><p>"Are you kiddin' me, Danno?"</p><p>"You do know she does all that kung fu stuff on the side, right?  I'm not sure I ever want to date a girl whose hands are lethal weapons."</p><p>Flack had to laugh.  "Wuss" he challenged his friend.</p><p>"Maybe so - but I'm a wuss who's still in one piece, thank you very much.  Besides I don't see <em>you</em> takin' a chance with her."  Catching sight of the shifty look in Flack's eyes, Danny gasped in triumph.  "You did!  You did, an' she turned you down..."</p><p>"So, <em>anyway</em>..." Flack interrupted, staring resolutely through the windscreen at the familiar building that rose up before them.  "Let's go over the plan one more time, shall we?"</p><p>Danny gave in graciously.  After all, it was easy to be the bigger man when you had just scored the winning point.  "No problem.  Number one - we keep tabs on Allan and report his location.  Done <em>and</em> done.  Number two - we wait for Mac to call back and tell us Ross has the suspect well and truly hooked online...  Does that sound crazy to you?" he added, genuinely curious to hear Flack's take on the whole situation.  "Pinnin' our hopes on the game playin' skills of one rookie lab tech?"</p><p>"You callin' Mac Taylor crazy?" Flack said pointedly.</p><p>Danny reconsidered.  "Um - no," he admitted, with a low chuckle.  "You're right.  I guess maybe he knows what he's doin'.  Okay, so then, Ross has a cosy little heart-to-heart with his new best friend..."</p><p>"...Mac tips us off when it's gone far enough..."</p><p>"...and we bust in, to catch Allan right in the act of tryin' to lure another 'kid' into his clutches," Danny finished triumphantly.  "You're sure you know what floor he's on?"</p><p>"I got it all worked out," Flack nodded.  "Kaile and me, we did our research yesterday.  Not much else to do, sittin' out here for hours.  The law firm checked out - no link to Allan or his 'familiar'.  The technogeeks - no offence..."</p><p>"None taken."</p><p>"They're just a local branch of a larger firm that operates outta Silicon Valley.  Also legit.  Troubleshooters, mostly."</p><p>"So you're sayin' 'freaky game design' ain't number one on their list of services?" Danny quipped.</p><p>"Somethin' like that.  Which makes me think our best bet is Mr. Ferdinand Roper.  Seventeenth floor.  Allan hit one of the top three buttons when he buzzed himself in yesterday, and the same again today.  That's as close as I can call it."</p><p>"And Ferdinand Roper is...?"</p><p>"A bit of a mystery," Flack admitted.  "Turns out, he didn't exist until two years ago.  When I called his number, I got a message that claimed he offered some kinda 'Personal Service' - discretion guaranteed."</p><p>"Sounds perfect."</p><p>"You mean dodgy, right?"</p><p>"That's what I said," Danny told him smoothly.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>There were dark circles under Adam's eyes.  He felt their presence keenly.  He couldn't quite recall the terrors that plagued him through the night but, even so, they left him with a lingering sense of unease that was hard to shake.  Waking early, he forced down a meagre breakfast and two cups of strong, black coffee.  Then he left his apartment and headed for work, with a fixed look of determination on his face and a jittery feeling in his limbs.</p><p>Arriving at the crime lab well ahead of time, he found Mac in his office, staring at the pictures of the missing children.  <em>Vampires and lab geeks,</em> Adam thought grimly, remembering his first conversation with Danny Messer.  Did the Boss Man <em>ever</em> sleep?</p><p>He knocked on the glass door and waited in silence for Mac to acknowledge him.</p><p> </p><p>Moving across to his couch, Mac beckoned the lab tech in.  "Good," he said, as Adam drew near.  "Sit down.  I want a word with you in private before we do this."</p><p>Adam perched on the edge of the seat.  "Okay..."  <em>Here we go again, </em> he thought, but Mac made no more comments about his lack of experience.  Instead, he scrutinised Adam with a gaze that seemed to pierce right through him.  Jarred by the sensation, Adam felt an uncontrollable need to defend himself.  "You're thinking I look tired, right - and maybe a little nervous, but I'm not, okay; I got plenty of sleep and I'm ready, sir.."</p><p>"I know you are," Mac said quietly.</p><p>Adam's awkward speech shuddered to an unexpected halt.  "You do?"</p><p>"I do.  But I have a request."</p><p>Full of curiosity by now, Adam waited.</p><p>"Agent Darrow would like to sit in with us.  Does that bother you?  Things may well get even more personal for you today, and I take it..."  Mac paused, but his meaning was already clear.  Keen to reassure him, Adam clenched his hands together and began to speak in a low, earnest tone.</p><p>"Darrow doesn't know.  About my dad - you're right.  At least, I haven't told him any details, though we did have a conversation yesterday...  He's cool, okay?  He can sit in; I really don't mind."  And somehow, he didn't.  Feeling the need to elucidate, Adam went on.  "I get what you're trying to do for me, Boss, and I'm grateful.  But I trust your judgement too.  This case means so much to Agent Darrow.  It wouldn't be right to keep him out just because of me.  I'd like to think I'm not that selfish."  He raised his eyebrows hopefully.  "Does that make sense?"</p><p>Mac gave a smile of approval that made Adam feel as though everything in the world was just as it ought to be.  "Yes, it does.  Thank you, Adam.  That was a generous statement.  Dredging up the past is never easy."</p><p>"Sounds like you know what you're talking about," Adam said, and immediately wished that he had held his tongue.  "I'm sorry, Mac; that was...  Look, I'm sure your past is none of my business."</p><p>"Adam.  Do you <em>have </em>to apologise for every single word that comes out of your mouth?"</p><p>"No, sir.  I'm sor...  It won't happen again."  Adam's cheeks were pink but there was the hint of a grin about his lips.  He had seen the twinkle in the other man's eye.</p><p>It was only after he had left the room that he glimpsed the consummate skill of Mac's diversion.</p><p><em>I need to learn how to do that,</em> he thought, full of awe, as he turned back to stare at his boss through the glass.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>The doors were closed.  He hadn't even noticed them before, but there they were, locking him into the AV lab with not one but two imposing figures sitting next to him and a world of trouble before him.</p><p>The image of the pipe spun randomly, marking his save point.  Adam reached out - and hesitated.</p><p>Going back was so much harder.</p><p>"Maybe he won't be there yet," Darrow said, keenly observant as always.  Adam could feel him watching closely and knew that the agent had marked his hesitation.</p><p>"Something tells me he will," Mac muttered, glancing at his cell phone, which lay nearby on the worktop.  Danny had called him, moments ago, to say that Allan was back inside the same mysterious building as yesterday.  Clearly, that was the Piper's local access point to Aurora.  As soon as the call had ended, the three men had stared at each other in silence - and Adam had fired up the game.</p><p><em>Think about the kids,</em> he reminded himself now, gazing at the screen.  The spinning of the pipe was almost hypnotic.  <em>Don't think about the monster.  You've done this before; you can do it again.</em></p><p>"When you're ready, Adam," Mac said.</p><p>Which, of course, meant 'do it now'.  Adam squared his shoulders.  "Okay - you want me?" he said to the floating pipe.  "You got me..."</p><p>
  <em>Boo stood in the empty pavilion and looked around.  There was no sign of the Piper.  "Pan?" he said, experimentally.  "Are you there?  It's me, Boo.  I've come back."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Time passed...</em>
</p><p>"Something's wrong," Darrow said.  "He's not coming."</p><p>"Just... wait."  Adam was focussed now.  The world of Aurora was wrapping itself around him.  "Listen - can you hear the music?  He's coming alright..."</p><p>
  <em>The spinning pipe had disappeared, but there was a faint, elusive echo running through the tent.  Boo tried to be patient.  Suddenly, Pan the Piper stepped out of nowhere, filling the tent with his overwhelming presence.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Boo," he said.  "I'm so glad to see you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He seemed shorter this time, much to Boo's surprise.  Their heads were almost on a level.  His smile was friendly and his eyes were kind.  He was dressed in a suit of red and yellow.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'm glad too," Boo said shyly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I wasn't sure if you'd return."  The Piper moved in slowly.  "You were very brave yesterday."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What do you mean?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I asked you some difficult questions.  I hope you'll forgive me for that."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Boo hesitated.  "I'm not angry with you, if that's what you're asking.  Look, you said you'd help me for sure.  Did you really mean it?"<br/></em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Honesty."  The Piper's remark was a cryptic one.  "That's the key to your quest, Boo."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I've told you the truth, I swear."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And I've shown you the same respect.  I always keep my promises.  I said I would help you, yes - but in order for me to do that, I'm going to need certain details..."</em>
</p><p>"Whatever he says," Darrow told Adam, suddenly, "don't give him your real name."</p><p>"No chance," Adam said fervently.  "Trust me, guys.  I got this.  Call Detective Flack, okay?  He's hooked.  I'll keep him talking..."</p><p>
  <em>"You want to know who I am," Boo said.  "In the real world, right?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It's the only way that I can save you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Like Fizzle?"  The question was tentative.  "You'll take me to the Mountain?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Like Ruth Eggar," Pan said firmly.  "Yes, you'll be safe, just as she is right now."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Boo took a moment to stare at the curious figure who promised so much.  The web was closing in around him, and he welcomed it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"My name is Thomas," he told Pan at last.  "Thomas Lawson.  I'm fourteen years old - and you're my only hope.  If you can't help me run away from my father, I'll do it all by myself..."</em>
</p><p>Mac picked up his cell phone and pressed speed-dial.</p><p>"Flack," he said urgently.  "Now."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Chapter 30</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>"Once upon a time..."</p><p>"I'm not a baby," Adam said.  "Tell it like a true story.  Please," he added, as an afterthought.</p><p>"You're right."  Thomas studied him gravely.  "Okay then - here goes.  When I was a boy like you, we moved around a lot..."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Are you going to interrupt like this all the way through?"  Thomas gave a grin to show that he was joking.  Adam shook his head and pressed his lips together.  "My parents were in the army - both of them.  That's how they met, actually.  Whenever they got transferred to a different base, we moved house - and I moved schools.  Then, one day, they both got transferred overseas.  That means..."</p><p>"To a different country," Adam said through half-open lips, trying to pretend that he wasn't really speaking.</p><p>Thomas nodded.  "Far away.  And I couldn't go.  So they sent me to boarding school."  Seeing Adam's raised eyebrows, he continued.  "A school where you stay all the time, except for holidays.  The first time was fun - an adventure.  I had lots of friends and the teachers were kind.  The second time was... harder.  I hated it, in fact, so I wrote to Mum and she got me into a different school.  That seemed okay, and I was happy for a while.  I started learning the piano, and that made me even happier.  Music was a friend that I could keep with me forever.   Most of all, it reminded me of my Dad, who loved it too."</p><p>"Did you like your lessons?"  Unable to help himself, Adam breathed the question, leaning in.</p><p>"I liked filling my head with new things and thinking about them until they made sense.  Much like you, I'm guessing.  Not all of my teachers were good, and some of them were pretty mean, like your Mrs Roberts, but in the end, those people are gone - in my past - and the things I learned are still in my head."  He gave another grin.  "Well, most of them, anyway."</p><p>"Okay..."  Adam's bright blue eyes were thoughtful.  "Sorry.  I in-ter-rupted again."</p><p>"It was a good question," Thomas told him quietly.  "Anyway, in this new school, there was a girl called Sam.  She was kind of shy, but I liked her.  She used to tell me all about the books she read, and I used to try and make her laugh."</p><p>"She didn't laugh?"</p><p>"Not very often.  But when she did..."  Closing his eyes, he could picture it.  "Her whole face lit up and she was beautiful.  That's why I kept on trying."</p><p>"A girl called Sam who didn't laugh.  Okay."  Adam stared at him, owl-like, following every word.  "Is she important?"</p><p>"Very.  One day, I found Sam, and she was sad.  Really sad.  Someone had hurt her."</p><p>"Oh!"  The sympathy in Adam's voice was painful.  He didn't ask for details.</p><p>"That someone was our history teacher," Thomas continued.  "Mr. Finch.  He was my favourite teacher - Sam's too.  Always acted like he was on our side, and his lessons were amazing.  When Sam told me what had happened, I was... angry."  Somehow, the word didn't do his feelings justice, but Thomas couldn't bring himself to share the full extent of his overwhelming disappointment and distress with the child in front of him.  Even now, the blow was just as heavy and he strove to hide his sorrow as he hurried on with his tale.  "I told her I would make things right, and I went straight to the headmaster.  Mr. Garriman."</p><p>"You don't like him."</p><p>"How can you tell?"  Thomas stared at Adam.</p><p>"Your face is all scrunched up, like a frown.  'Sides, if he helped you, this would be a good story, right?"</p><p>Taken aback, yet again, by Adam's intelligence, Thomas gave a slow nod.  "He wasn't a bad man; not really.  I think  he just... struggled, you know?  And he drank, to try and make things easier."</p><p>"But it didn't?"</p><p>"No, it didn't.  It only made him weak and easy to manipulate.  Other people could always make him do exactly what they wanted," Thomas explained.</p><p>"That's not nice," Adam whispered, and Thomas could see that he was thinking deeply.</p><p>"I tried to tell Mr. Garriman what had happened, but Mr. Finch arrived and he had someone with him.  Another girl from Sam's class.  Her name was Katie Jones and she hated both of us.  I don't know why.  She was just a bully."</p><p>Adam shivered.  "Did she... hit you?"</p><p>"No," Thomas said.  "What she did was even worse.  She told a lie... a clever lie that took the truth and twisted it..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>London, 1975</strong>
</p><p>"I saw him," Katie said, stepping out from behind Mr. Finch.  Her hands were clasped in front of her and her face was the picture of innocence.</p><p>Mr. Garriman set down his glass.  "Saw him where?"</p><p>"In the girls' bathroom.  Sam was crying.  She kept saying, 'No, please don't...'"</p><p>"She was trying to stop me," Thomas argued, his temper rising.  Katie flashed him a glance of triumph and, too late, he saw how easily he was falling into her trap.  "Stop me coming here, I mean.  To tell on Mr. Finch."</p><p>"Mr. Finch?"  The headmaster stared at him, stunned, like a sick goldfish.</p><p>"See?" Katie said to the man behind her.  "I told you he was going to try and blame it on you.  Sir," she added quickly.</p><p>"Finch?" said Garriman, floundering.  "What are they talking about?"</p><p>"According to Miss Jones, this boy, Lawson - pardon me, headmaster - he forced his attentions on Samantha Pierce in the girls' bathroom.  Shocking behaviour.  She says he's been tormenting the poor girl for weeks.  Stalking her.  Playing nasty tricks on her."</p><p>Thomas could hardly believe how sweetly the lies dripped from the tongue of his favourite teacher.  The world was tilting around him.  He felt dizzy and sick.  "That was Katie," he hissed.  "Ask Sam.  She'll tell you."</p><p>"You see?" said Finch.  "Even now, he's trying to pin the blame on someone else.  Be a man," he advised, wheeling to face Thomas.  His eyes were clear and cold.  "Admit your crime and take your punishment."</p><p>"Be a... me?  You!  You're the one...  Ask Sam!"  In the midst of his distress, Thomas clung to the one fact that gave him hope.  Sam would tell the truth.  Sam would clear his name and label Finch the villain.</p><p>The good guys always won - didn't they?</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>It was a fresh-faced young man who opened the door to them - a student, Danny guessed, working his way through college.  At the sight of their badges, the kid gave a nervous smile.  "You got the right building?" he asked them, no doubt hoping for a negative answer.</p><p>"Yes, thank you."  Flack held up a picture of Richard Allan.  "Seen this man?"</p><p>The kid ran a hand through his fair hair, which was artfully dishevelled, making him look like a wannabe pop star.  "Maybe..."</p><p>"Oh, come on," Danny sighed.  The frustration in his tone was unintentional, he promised himself.  "We saw him enter the building ourselves, not twenty minutes ago.  Where were <em>you </em>- in the bathroom?"</p><p>The young man flushed.  "I don't take personal breaks when I'm on duty."</p><p>"Then you saw him," Flack insisted.</p><p>"I saw a <em>guy</em>...  It could've been this one."  Taking the photo, the young man studied it closely.  "You gotta admit, he's kinda ordinary, yeah?"</p><p>"Fine."  Danny snagged the picture.  "So, which way did Mr. Ordinary go?"</p><p>"Elevator.  I didn't see which floor.  Somebody buzzed him in - nothin' to do with me, okay?  I'm just security."</p><p>"And you got this job how?" Danny muttered as the two detectives walked away.  Flack sniggered.</p><p>Riding up seventeen floors in the elevator proved to be a highly unpleasant experience.  The building had been constructed in the 1970s and still retained many of its original features - a clear case of budget constraints overriding personal taste.  The metal car was one of them.  "Sbells like feet id here," Flack complained, holding his nose.</p><p>"Or your locker," Danny suggested helpfully.</p><p>Flack swatted him on the shoulder as the car jerked to a halt and both men spilled out with far more haste than they had intended.  "Thank God," he sighed, breathing in gratefully.  Seconds later, he exploded into a violent fit of coughing.  "Lemon... ugh..."</p><p>Torn between the urge to laugh and the need to cover his own mouth as quickly as possible, Danny nodded.  "Maybe Mr. Ferdinand Roper has some kinda citrus fetish - ya think?"</p><p>"Or maybe he's just trying to mask the <em>dreadful</em> odour clinging to every crack and crevice of this dangerously outmoded junk pile," a new voice remarked.  "Can you blame him, gentlemen?"  Sidling forwards, a slender figure reached out to clasp them both by the hand, one at a time.  Flack drew back, still coughing.  Danny suffered the contact unhappily, feigning politeness and pulling his fingers away just as soon as he could without causing offence.</p><p>"Messer.  Flack," he began, by way of a cautious introduction.  The lemon scent caught at the back of his throat when he spoke and he was forced to swallow it down, with a sense of bitter revulsion.</p><p>"D'tectives," Flack spluttered behind him, waving his badge.  "NYPD."</p><p>The man leaned in to study it, aware that Danny was scrutinising him at the same time, and artfully unconcerned.  "I know what you're thinking, Detective," he commented, when he had satisfied himself that the proffered badge was genuine.  "I'm an Enigma."  He made it sound like a great accomplishment when, in fact, all that Danny could see was a middle-aged man whose dress sense was worse than shocking.  His limp, greying hair reached halfway down his back, fastened into a straggly tail.  A silver bead dangled from his left ear.  His shirt was silver too, and his pants were bright green.  The worst thing of all, however, was his smile, which was dazzling enough to put the strip light over their heads to shame.  <em>Someone</em> had left the whitening solution on their teeth for far too long - on purpose?  Danny shuddered at the overall effect of that irritating smile combined with such a dreadful outfit.  <em>Surely not...</em></p><p>"Wasting time," Flack hissed, for his ears only.</p><p>"Right."  He pulled himself together and managed to form a sentence without gagging.  "Are <em>you</em> Mr. Roper?"  Somehow, he knew the answer even before the stranger swept them both a fussy little bow.</p><p>"In person.  Always charmed to be of service to New York's finest."</p><p>"We'll see."  Danny fished out the photograph.  "Richard Allan.  You buzzed him in."  Opting for a direct statement rather than a question was a gamble, but he took it, watching the Enigma for any signs of consternation.</p><p>"I did," the man replied easily, much to their surprise.</p><p>"We'd like to see him.  Please."  Danny didn't really feel like being civil but it never hurt to remember his manners in a situation like this.  <em>For now,</em> he reasoned, with a sly grin of his own.</p><p>"Warrant?" Roper asked him.</p><p>Flack waved a piece of paper in front of their host and Danny thanked his lucky stars that they had thought to come prepared.  Far too many criminals felt entitled when the cops came calling, these days.  He blamed all those crime shows on TV.</p><p>"Roper your real name?" Flack asked, while the Enigma studied every single line of the warrant, taking twice as long over the signature at the bottom.</p><p>"'I am he as you are he as you are me, and we are all together,'"* the man sang cheerfully, making the detective smile.  "That all seems in order," he added, looking up.  "Shame I can't comply."</p><p>"<em>What</em> now?"  Danny was starting to lose control of his patience.</p><p>"I mean, I'd like to, of course.  Judge's orders, and all.  But our mutual friend isn't here.  You can search for yourselves, of course, if you don't believe me."</p><p>Flack shook his head, as though trying to clear it.  "You buzzed him into the building - but he ain't here?"</p><p>"As I said - New York's finest."  Ferdinand Roper's pearly white teeth were vividly on display by now.  He seemed unconcerned by the rising tempers of the two detectives.  "Look," he continued.  "Allow me to explain.  It's my business, you see?  Personal services.  I supply... oh, well now, let's just call them creative situations to life's irritating little problems.  In the case of Richard Allan, that irritating problem was... well, the NYPD.  No offence," he lied sweetly.  "The man had a tail and the tail needed shaking."  His grin grew even wider at the awful pun.  "Buzz - and a man comes in.  But the man doesn't stay - he slips out by another way.  Job done."</p><p>"And you <em>charge</em> him for this?"  Danny's tone was incredulous.</p><p>"Of course I do.  Five hundred dollars a time, if you must know.  The perfect alibi is worth its weight in gold."</p><p>"Tell that to Richard Allan," Flack suggested.  "Somethin' tells me he'll be askin' for his money back after today."</p><p>"You can tell him yourself," Roper shrugged.  "When you find him, I mean."</p><p>Danny clenched his fists... and rammed them deep into his pockets, fighting the urge to punch the Enigma - <em>bang </em>- right in the middle of his smug white smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>* From 'I am the Walrus' by the Beatles.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Chapter 31</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>"Something went wrong, didn't it?"  Adam could see that Thomas was reluctant to tell this part of the story.  "I bet Sam got scared."  For some reason, in his head, Sam looked exactly like his sister, Mary.</p><p>Thomas was contemplating his long, pale fingers as if seeing them for the very first time.  He dragged his gaze back up to Adam's face.  "What?"</p><p>"You're all quiet," Adam explained, full of concern.  "If it's hard...  If you don't want to finish the story... you know, that's okay.  I don't mind."</p><p>"No," Thomas said.  "I'll finish."  His smile was less than convincing.  Adam knew the gesture was meant for him, and him alone.  It gave Thomas no comfort.  "You're absolutely right; Sam did get scared.  I was so sure that she would tell the truth- that it was Mr. Finch who tried to hurt her, not me - but they sent Katie Jones to fetch her and when the two girls came back...  When I saw Sam's face..."  He shook his head.  "It was like someone had struck me, right in the chest.  For a moment, I could hardly breathe.  I knew.  I just knew she was going to lie."</p><p>Adam thought about this.  He tried to imagine how it must have been - not for Thomas but for Sam.  Thomas had been oddly vague about Mr. Finch and what he had done to her, but it must have been scary.  Full of shame, Sam had tried to hide away; to keep her secret.  Against her wishes, Thomas had dragged it out into the open, for all to see.  He had tried to help her but, in doing so, he had accidentally fed her to the wolves.  There she was, in a room full of enemies, longing to explain but afraid of their power over her - the head teacher, the man who had hurt her, and the bully who had made her life a misery.</p><p><em>I couldn't even tell the truth to Mrs Tolmie,</em> Adam thought suddenly.  It was an unexpected revelation.  Adam did not like to think of himself as a liar.  Liars were bad; his daddy said so.  All the same, he had spent the whole of his short life keeping one big secret from the world as though letting it out would cause some kind of dreadful catastrophe.  Now it seemed that secrets could be dangerous too.  So what was the right thing to do?  Tell the truth, like Thomas, and be punished for it?  Or hide away and be sad for the rest of your life?</p><p>Adam hugged himself tightly and buried the question deep inside his head, to think about later.</p><p>"What happened next?" he said.</p><p>"Katie must have threatened her," Thomas said dully.  "I don't know what she said, or why, and I never found out.  Some people just like making mischief, I suppose.  Whatever the reason, Sam barely spoke - she didn't accuse Mr. Finch and she didn't deny that I had hurt her.  She just stared at the floor and looked wretched."</p><p>"Was the trouble very bad?"</p><p>"Bad enough," said Thomas.  "They expelled me."</p><p>The word sounded terrible.  Adam tried to work out what it meant.  "Did it hurt?" he ventured carefully.</p><p>Thomas snorted and then held his hand up to his mouth.  "Sorry," he mumbled.  "You're a good listener.  Sometimes, I forget I'm talking to a child.  'Expelled' simply means that they kicked me out.  Asked me to leave," he amended quickly, when Adam's eyes grew wide again.  "Sent me packing."</p><p>Adam imagined a small Mister Thomas, complete with suitcase, wandering the streets.</p><p>"But your mommy and daddy..."</p><p>"Were less than impressed when Garriman contacted them.  I stayed with my grandmother for a couple of weeks, until they found me a new school.  A very strict school.  Needless to say, I hated it."</p><p>"Did they... believe you?"</p><p>Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  "No," he said in a voice that was far too casual.  "They believed Mr. Garriman.  Still do, as far as I know.  The lie became a part of me, you see.  So many people believed in it, they turned it into a truth that follows me like a big black shadow, wherever I go.  Even here, in the end."</p><p>"But I don't believe it," Adam said stoutly.  "So, maybe we can turn it back - you know, into a lie.  Sam didn't want you to help her... but you're helping me.  Isn't that a good thing?"</p><p>The look that Thomas gave him was unreadable.  Adam drew back in confusion.  For a while, they sat together in silence, cross-legged on the floor.</p><p>"Are you hungry?" Thomas said at last, changing the subject in the same careful way that he changed his expression.  He rose to his feet and held out his hand.  "Come on, Adam.  Let's eat."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Lindsay was still trying to learn the subtle (and not so subtle) quirks of her new colleagues.  Body language, she decided, was a fascinating study.  Take Mac Taylor, for example.  At first glance, he might seem like a serious man but she was already starting to observe a certain glint in his eye - shared so quickly that it was easy to miss - which challenged her initial assumption and hinted at a well-developed sense of the absurd.</p><p>Then, of course, there was Danny Messer.  He strutted around the crime lab like a tom cat, oozing charm; the antithesis of Mac's restraint.  And yet somehow she could see that they were not so very different, underneath it all.  To her surprise - for he wasn't her usual type - Lindsay found herself drawn to the man who was hiding behind that cocky attitude.</p><p>Sheldon's depths, she could not plumb quite so easily.  He was affable and dedicated - friendly enough, yet the subtle walls that he had set in place around his core provoked her curiosity.  She looked forward to knowing him better, if he chose to let her in.</p><p>Adam Ross - now there was a conundrum.  Supremely confident in his own abilities, and yet so unsure of himself in just about every other way.  Whenever she was with him, Lindsay found herself alternating between the fierce desire to protect him, like a momma bear, and a strong urge to swat him across the back of the head.  Exasperating and loveable, hopeless and brilliant - how had she grown so fond of him, in such a short space of time?</p><p>Easiest of all to read was Stella Bonasera.  Lindsay watched her now, as she stood in the hallway, engaged in conversation with a dark-haired female detective.  Everything she felt and thought shone out of her eyes and infused her whole being with energy.  Lindsay envied her that freedom - the freedom to react with passion and never to fear the consequences.  There was a vital honesty about Stella which had no need for walls to hide behind.</p><p>Reading Stella's posture and the set of her jaw, it was clear that this detective - Maka, Danny called her - had brought disturbing news.  Lindsay ached to know what it was, but knew that she didn't have the right to muscle in on their conversation.  Instead, she strained her ears to pick up any scattered phrases that came floating down the corridor.  "No sign?" was one, and "You're sure?" was another.  "Who let this happen?" Stella demanded in a loud, exasperated tone.</p><p>All around the crime lab, heads began to turn.  Lindsay allowed herself to stare more freely; bolder now that she was one of many.</p><p>Detective Maka kept her cool, a rock standing firm before a tempest.  "The boy's a victim, not a criminal.  We couldn't simply lock him up.  That being said, the home that took him in for the night is one of the best.  I've dealt with them many times in the past and, believe me, they're devastated."</p><p>Both women's voices were loud enough to carry at this point.  "Was he taken?" Stella asked.</p><p>"Doubtful.  As far as we can tell, he snuck out of the place by himself.  What happened after that is still unknown."  Maka shook her head.  "This is starting to have a familiar ring, don't you think?"</p><p>"Wait - are you saying he returned <em>voluntarily</em> to the man who held him captive all this time?"</p><p><em>They're talking about Jack,</em> Lindsay realised, and caught her breath in shock.  The boy they had found; the single, unexpected victory that had given them all hope.  "We're going backwards," she muttered - and found her gaze shifting to the AV lab, where three figures huddled in front of a trio of screens...</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Mac caught the edge of Stella's discussion as it filtered through the glass walls, but he made a conscious decision not to let it distract him from the matter at hand.  Trusting his colleague to handle the problem, whatever it was, he focussed every ounce of his attention on the man who sat beside him.</p><p>Adam's typing was feverish.  Having broken through what he clearly perceived as a barrier, the Piper was pressing 'Thomas' to share even more details of his situation and, somehow, this timid lab tech was keeping the whole fragile tower of cards from toppling down, as he dealt with question after prying question, answering some of them plainly enough to keep Pan on the hook but deflecting the rest in order to keep their secret and maintain the illusion of a wary teenager.</p><p><em>This is going too far, too fast,</em> Mac thought suddenly, as he watched Adam press 'enter', sending his latest answer out into cyberspace.  With Ruth, at least, the Piper had spent months cultivating their relationship online.  As far as they could tell, it had been much the same with the other children too.  So, what had changed, exactly?  Speed was vital to their own case, and Mac was grateful they had come so far in such a short space of time - but why was their suspect in such a hurry to ensnare his latest prey?  Did he sense them closing in?</p><p>Was 'Thomas' intended to be Allan's last victim before he fled New York City altogether?</p><p>"Boss?" Adam ventured.  He stared at Mac, as though waiting for an answer.  In his bright blue eyes, there was a shadow of uncertainty.</p><p><em>I missed something.  </em>Mac's gaze flicked over Adam's shoulder and took in Darrow's expectant face.  "What do <em>you</em> think?" he said carefully to the waiting agent.  It was a poor deception, one that he felt rather guilty for perpetrating, but somehow it didn't feel right to let Adam know that his own mind had been wandering.</p><p>Darrow was a smart man.  Behind his evident pleasure at being asked for his opinion, there was a sly twinkle that suggested he could read Mac like a book.</p><p>"Set the meeting," he advised.  "What harm could it do?  Your men are in the building.  Soon enough, they'll have Allan.  Why spook him now?"</p><p><em>Ah,</em> Mac thought.  "I agree," he told Adam.  Glancing at the screen, he saw the Piper's last phrase still hovering there.</p><p>
  <em>How shall I find you, Thomas?</em>
</p><p>Bile rose in his throat.  There it was; the hook that had already caught so many children.  One last significant detail to seal their fate.</p><p>"Tell him you live next door to Ruth.  Tell him you'll be outside, tonight, at midnight.  Keep it simple."  Mac peered closely at the young man.  "Want me to do this?"</p><p>"No."  Adam swallowed.  His face was white.  Impressed by his stubbornness, Mac wondered just how many of the things he had shared with Pan were the absolute truth and how many were a hasty fabrication.  "I'll do it; don't worry, Boss.  Besides, he might be able to tell something's wrong if we switch.  They'll catch him any minute, right?  I just have to keep going?"</p><p>"Yes," Mac said, with far more confidence than he actually felt.  "Keep typing."  The leading edge of a headache brushed against his skull and he winced at the contact.  If this didn't work - if Flack and Danny failed to arrest Allan - what then?  Plan B was a half-formed thing, full of flaws; one of which was glaringly obvious.  Adam may be able to pass for a fourteen year old boy online, but in the real world?  'Unlikely' was an optimistic assessment.  <em>It's the beard,</em> Mac thought, with grim humour.  <em>Think he'd shave it off, if you asked him?</em>  The joke was a poor one and did not lift his spirits.  The very thought of Adam playing bait - waiting in the shadows for Allan to find him - gave Mac a shiver of apprehension.</p><p>Someone would have to take his place and become 'Thomas'.  But who?</p><p>Unaware of Mac's concern, Adam returned to the Piper's question, answering carefully, just as his boss had instructed...</p><p>
  <em>"And how will I know you?" the Piper asked.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'll be wearing a black hoodie," Boo said.  "Jeans and sneakers."  Pausing, he stared at the curious figure before him.  "What about you?  I don't want to make a mistake.  How will I know you?  Do you look... like this?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I am the Piper and he is me.  But this is not my mortal form, just as you are not a cat but a boy in need.  You will know me, have no fear..."</em>
</p><p>"Yeah, right."  Adam sighed.  "Okay, so I tried to draw him out, Mac, but he's not giving anything away for free.  'You tell me - but I won't tell you.'  Creepy..."  He gave a pantomime shudder that made Darrow chuckle.  At the same time, Mac's cell phone buzzed on the desk in front of them.  He picked it up, hoping for good news, but the voice that greeted him was full of agitation.</p><p>Settling at last behind his eyes, the headache took root and began to swell.</p><p>"Danny.  What?  Slow down...  Now tell me, what's the matter?"</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Chapter 32</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>As soon as they reached the kitchen, Thomas made himself busy.  Turning his back, he rifled through the cupboards in search of a suitable meal.  Adam clambered onto a chair and watched him quietly.  It wasn't fear that made him hold his tongue, but something different and not altogether bad.  Lifting his feet from the floor, he hugged his knees to his chest, like a caterpillar curling into itself, as the thoughts that ran through his brain worked their silent magic, changing him from deep within until suddenly he found that he could see things as they truly were.</p><p>Being here with Thomas was like a dream.  But even the best dreams ended.  When you woke up, the world was still there, just as it had always been, and the dream became a memory - or worse, a blank space in your mind, empty of all the wonderful things that you yearned to remember.  Running away from home had seemed like the perfect escape - yet now Adam knew that there was no real way to leave his life behind.  Wherever he went, he would always take it with him.  And, with each new person he met, he would have to make the same choice, over and over again - to share the truth about himself or to hide his secret, just like Mister Thomas.</p><p><em>My choice,</em> he realised.  The thought gave him power, and that was unexpected too.  He wondered if Thomas would understand - but the words wouldn't come when he called for them and now, all at once, he felt trapped in his silence; cocooned and alone.</p><p>Something had altered between the two friends.  They were awkward in each other's company; not the same kind of silence that had gripped them when they met, but a need for distance that came from knowing far too much.  They had dared to share the darkness in their hearts and Adam saw that being together was going to be hard, for a while.</p><p>Ever the optimist, he strove to fix the unfixable.  Some things were far too important to lose.</p><p>"Mister Thomas," he said, freeing his tongue at last with the strength of his own stubborn will.  "Are you still my friend?"</p><p>"What?"  Thomas turned and faced him; really faced him.  The careful mask had gone and Adam could see his pain, like an open wound - but pain was something he knew.  He had lived with it, inside and out, for as long as he could remember.  Part of him longed to cry for Thomas.  Instead, he clenched his fists and held back the hot tears, as he persevered.</p><p>"You're sad, okay, and I wanted to help you, but all I've done is make your sadness bigger."  Letting his knees drop, he slid to the edge of the chair, every nerve in his body straining with the effort of putting his thoughts into words.  "I didn't mean to hurt you.  I'm sorry, Mister Thomas.  Are you still my friend...?"</p><p>
  <em>Do you want me to go...?</em>
</p><p>Adam knew he ought to make the offer.  It was the right thing to do, but he was frightened of the consequences and so he fought against the instinct.  <em>Not now,</em> he told himself, trying to pretend that he would find his courage soon.  <em>Not yet...</em></p><p>"You're... sorry."  It wasn't a question.  Thomas dropped his gaze and stared at his feet.  Now his eyes were hidden and that troubled Adam.  Tongues could always lie, but eyes told the truth.</p><p>Adam slipped off the chair altogether.  A wave of pain surged up from the soles of his feet as they hit the floor but he chose to ignore the sensation.  Instead, he walked right up to Mister Thomas.</p><p>"Yes," he said.</p><p>And he wrapped his arms around the man, offering comfort as much as he sought it for himself.</p><p>Moments passed in silence.  Adam held his breath.  A tentative hand touched his shoulder.</p><p>"Yes," Thomas echoed in a whisper.  "Yes, I'm still your friend, you funny boy."  Then he laughed, and the laughter was genuine.  "Thank you, Adam."</p><p>"For what?" Adam asked him warily.  Hadn't his apology been clear enough?</p><p>"For coming here," Thomas replied.  "For trusting me."  He gave a slow, wide smile.  "And for making me laugh."</p><p>"Oh," said Adam, dizzy with relief.  "That's okay, Mister Thomas."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Mac was angry.  Not with Danny, that much Adam could tell from the way he kept his voice tightly under control as he thanked the detective for his report.  No, this anger was more of a slow burning fuse and Adam felt no desire to be in the vicinity when the explosion finally came.  Nor did he feel a speck of sympathy for Richard Allan, the focus of all Mac's fury.  The missing man; the Piper whose avatar still hovered right there in front of them on the screen, a brightly-coloured mockery of their failed attempt to arrest him.  'Frustrating' didn't come close to describing it, Adam decided.  'Torture' would be far more accurate.  He hugged himself as a chill ran through him.  Darrow looked equally sick.</p><p>Glaring at the two of them, simply because they were there, Mac thrust his cell phone into his pocket and rose from his seat.  "That's it, then," he said.  "Tonight we move.  Sign off, Adam.  You've spent enough time with this creep."  His voice softened, ever so slightly.  "Thank you."</p><p>Adam bowed his head in acknowledgement as he read the subtext of Mac's words in the man's steady gaze: <em>I know what this cost you...</em></p><p>"Do you...?" he began, and then cleared his throat.  "Do you need me there?  Tonight, I mean?"  He longed for closure - and the thought of seeing this through to the end was both terrifying and exhilarating.  But Adam was just a humble lab tech and, already, Mac was shaking his head.  No clarification was necessary.  Adam stared at his hands, uncertain how to respond, as Mac turned to Darrow.</p><p>"Don't take this the wrong way, Joseph, but you should stay away too," he said evenly.</p><p>Adam couldn't see the agent's face but he could sense the way he stiffened.</p><p>"Elaborate, please," was his cold reply.</p><p>And of course, Mac obliged.  Feeling like an intruder, Adam listened silently, with a growing sense of admiration for his boss and the clear way he saw things.  "Allan knows you far too well.  And that restraining order... it's a problem.  I'm sorry, believe me - in your place, I'd feel the same as you do.  I'd even fight to come along - and I'll understand if you try.  But Joseph, you're a rational man.  You've hunted Allan for years, and you know the stakes, more than anyone.  We can't jeopardise this chance; our one chance to catch him in the act."</p><p>Adam peered upwards through his lashes, watching Darrow's face as the agent considered Mac's statement.  His nod, when it came, was slow and thoughtful.</p><p>"Then you better not let me down," was all he said.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>The rest of the day passed by in a blur for Adam.  His task was done, and so he was quickly assigned to another one, reconstructing shards of broken glass into champagne bottles for a random case that he knew nothing about.  He strongly suspected that Mac was trying to break the hold that the Piper had gained over him - and the new task was absorbing enough, but Adam still felt disjointed.  He had laid himself bare, in front of his boss and the FBI, of all people.  How were you meant to recover from that?  Surrounded by clear walls and white-coated strangers, his loneliness grew like a living thing that almost choked him.  When the end of his shift came, he couldn't be happier.</p><p>Time for a beer - no, a whole <em>lot</em> of beers, and maybe a game or two...</p><p><em>No,</em> he thought abruptly.  No games tonight.</p><p>He collected his bag from the locker room and left without saying goodbye to anyone.  Mac had disappeared long ago; probably organising their ambush - <em>Adam's</em> ambush - with the other CSIs and that grinning detective, Flack.</p><p>When he reached the elevator, he found Darrow waiting there.</p><p>"Oh - I thought you'd gone," he said, tactless in his surprise.</p><p>"I'm going now."  Darrow shrugged.  "Not much more that I can do here today.  Off home, are you?"</p><p>Adam tried not to sound petulant.  After all, if Darrow could control his disappointment...  "Yep," he said.</p><p>The doors slid open and they stepped into the car.  For a while, there was nothing between them; a stilted, uncomfortable 'nothing'.  And then Darrow turned to him.</p><p>"Fancy a drink?" he offered.</p><p>Full of longing for the peace and safety of his own home, Adam was about to decline, just as he had with Danny - but something in Darrow's face made him change his mind.  Remembering how he had felt in the lab that afternoon, he saw that it must have been magnified tenfold for the agent.</p><p><em>Besides,</em> he thought, <em>don't you still owe him a kindness?</em></p><p>With a grin that he hoped was convincing enough, Adam nodded.  "Sure," he said to Darrow.  "That's a great idea.  First one's on me, though, okay?"</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Adam's student years at NYU meant that he knew quite a few watering holes in the area.  Feeling very aware of his dignified FBI escort, he avoided the liveliest ones and settled for a low-key establishment known simply to its discerning patrons as 'Marty's'.  For as long as Adam could remember, there had never actually been a 'Marty' behind the bar but he did recognise one girl as he walked through the door, and he blushed as she smiled at him.  Dark-eyed women were a weakness of his, and Romy had the darkest, most appealing eyes that he had ever seen.</p><p>Maybe one day he would pluck up the courage to ask her out.</p><p>Steering Darrow to a booth in the corner, he took the opposite bench, still blushing like a fool.  Already, the old-world charm of the place, with its shadowy nooks and cosy lighting, had begun to work its magic over him, as it always did.  He hadn't even realised how tense he was, until he let his shoulders droop and his breathing even out.  Feeling much better all of a sudden, he gave a warm smile of his own and was pleased to see that Darrow responded in kind.</p><p>"This is the perfect place," the agent said.  "What'll you have?"</p><p>"Nuh-uh," Adam told him.  "My treat, remember?"</p><p>Darrow conceded.  "For now - if you insist.  Light beer, please."  He folded his arms in a classic gesture of defiance.  "But the rest of the night is on me.  You've earned it, Adam Ross.  Let me show my gratitude."</p><p>To refuse would be impolite.  Besides, Adam knew exactly how much money he had in his wallet, and when it was likely to run out.  Nodding his acceptance, he headed to the bar and placed his order, trying not to stammer as the barmaid studied him appraisingly.  It was the wordless conversation between them - blue eyes to dark eyes - that resulted in a light beer and a Guinness on the house.  Maybe Romy had a thing for shy men with beards.  Walking away with his unexpected prize, he began to feel quite hopeful.  Thanks to Darrow, this day was slowly getting better.</p><p>The two men sat together, talking aimlessly for a while.  Darrow had a wealth of humorous tales about his early days with the FBI.  Adam listened politely at first but the old-fashioned man turned out to be a wonderful storyteller.  The bar filled up around them, but Adam barely noticed.  After a while, he didn't even notice Romy watching him over the swollen crowd.  Nor did he pay much attention to the number of drinks he was pouring down his throat.  After the stress of the last few days, this strange new sense of heedlessness was a wild relief.</p><p><em>I'm with the FBI,</em> he thought giddily.  "Tot - <em>hic </em>- totally safe."</p><p>Agent Darrow frowned at him.  Wait - had he said that out loud?</p><p>"'S embarrassing," he murmured.  "Sorry.  Wha' were we talking about?"</p><p>"You asked me how I learned to cope with the horrors I've seen," Darrow answered gravely.</p><p>"I did?"  Somehow, he couldn't remember.  Peering through his drunken fog, he made a discovery.  "One," he said, pointing to Darrow's single drink.  Then he gestured to his own side of the table.  "One, two, three, four, five, se... six..."  Counting was difficult.  Adam abandoned his effort in disgust.  "Not like me," he explained, sounding rather pathetic.</p><p>"I'm the designated driver, remember?  And you really needed to relax."  This time, Darrow's pale eyes held no judgement.  "In answer to your question, though - I'm not sure that I have."</p><p>Adam squinted at him.  "Have what?"</p><p>"Learned to cope.  Have you?"</p><p>"'M new at this.  Crime, you know, not drinking.  Bran' new."  He giggled, and then sighed.  Being happy and sad at the same time was very confusing.</p><p>"That's not what I meant."  Darrow seemed to weigh his next words carefully.  "The things you told the Piper...  The little you told <em>me</em>...  It must have been terrible, starting your life that way.  And I can certainly see the effect it has on you now.  Do you think you'll ever get over it?"</p><p>Adam took another swig of Guinness.  It was something to do while he tried to push his fuzzy thoughts back into order.  "'S part of me," he said at last.  "Y'know?"</p><p>"Can you forgive him?" Darrow murmured, in a voice so low that Adam had to strain to catch his words.</p><p>No point in lying.  Adam had asked himself this question more times than he could count.  "I don' know," he said honestly.  "My Dad...  All those memories...  So hard to forget."</p><p>Strangely, this seemed to be the answer that Darrow was expecting.  He gave a single nod of satisfaction.  "I understand."</p><p>"You do?"  Adam felt a cold wave of self-pity wash over him as the phrase echoed in his head.  "Thank you."  He stared at the jumble of empty glasses, still unable to count them properly.  Glancing up, he caught sight of Romy's disapproving face.  With a flash of insight, he saw himself through her dark eyes - just another drunken coward, trying to drown his sorrows.  "Had enough," he said, surging to his feet.  To his great shame, the world spun around him and he slumped back down.  "Want t' go home now.  Sorry," he added, childlike, hoping the magic word would buy him absolution from his carelessness.  <em>Drunk and dismal in front of the FBI, </em>his conscience reminded him primly.  <em>'Sorry' won't make any difference now.</em></p><p>Stupid, Adam.</p><p>All of a sudden, he felt Darrow's arm around his shoulder, helping him back to his feet.</p><p>"Don't be sorry.  You've done nothing wrong.  And as for home - I'll take you there myself," the agent said kindly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Chapter 33</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>The last of the bread - and the last of the cheese, for that matter - went into making grilled cheese sandwiches.  The last of the milk went into Adam's glass.  Thomas was starting to feel as though he was under siege in his own home.  He needed supplies - and that was a problem.  Practicality reared its ugly head and laughed at him for his inadequacy.</p><p>What made him think he could ever take care of a child?</p><p>"This is good," Adam said, with a cheerful air and a ring of crumbs around his mouth.</p><p>"It's my speciality," Thomas replied.  "The thing I do best," he added hastily.  "The only thing, if I'm being brutally honest."  He grinned, and then took a deep breath.  "Adam, I need to go shopping."</p><p>"Okay," the boy nodded.  Clearly, he didn't understand the implications.</p><p>"On my own," Thomas continued, watching Adam's face.</p><p>The half-eaten sandwich froze in mid-air.  "Oh," Adam said.  "I get it."  Setting the food back down on his plate with great care, he stared back at Thomas.  "You think I'll be scared."</p><p>"Won't you?"</p><p>Adam's blue eyes narrowed as he considered the question.  "Maaaybe," he said slowly.  "Just a little bit.  But that's okay, 'cause you'll come back again, right?  And bring more sam-wiches?"  His voice rose hopefully.  Thomas chuckled.</p><p>"Top of my list" he nodded.  "Anything else you want?"</p><p>He couldn't help noticing how Adam wriggled uncomfortably.  Up until now, the boy had been sitting bolt upright in his chair.  Not once had he leaned back; nor had he uttered a single complaint, even though he must be terrible sore, in so many places.  Thomas felt a great sense of respect for his forbearance.</p><p>"No, thank you," Adam said.</p><p>Thomas shook his head.  "Don't be polite.  Tell the truth.  I can see it in your eyes - there's something.  Honestly, Adam; I don't mind."</p><p>Adam flushed.  It took him a few minutes to build up the courage to speak again, but when the answer finally came, Thomas could hear the mingled shame and gratitude behind the quiet words.  "I need... some more clothes..."</p><p>He could have smacked his forehead, he felt so stupid.  There sat the boy, in the same dirty outfit that he had worn yesterday - slept in, even, under the bougainvillea...  Clothes that would constantly remind him of the terror he had been through.  Thomas sighed out loud.  He couldn't help himself.  "Of course you do.  No problem."  That was a lie, of course, but he breezed past it quickly.  "What size?"</p><p>And this time Adam was really floored.  He stared at Thomas in consternation.  "My size," he said.</p><p>Thomas thought back to the clothes that Adam had been wearing on that first day.  (Was it only two days ago?  It felt like a lifetime.)  Over-sized jeans that were rolled up at the ankles and lashed with a belt.  An old t-shirt.  "Hand-me-downs, right?" he said, and Adam flushed again, his head dropping.  "Curse of the youngest child.  Nothing to be ashamed of, though.  Okay, I think I can pick out something suitable."  He gave the red-faced boy an encouraging smile.  "Trust me?"</p><p>Adam's head bobbed vigorously.  Now his eyes were wide.  "You're really going to buy me... new clothes?  With your money?"</p><p>"Well," said Thomas, "I'm not going to steal them.  Kidding!" he exclaimed, and held up his hands in mock surrender.</p><p>Adam's giggle said he knew that.  He picked up the rest of his sandwich and took a happy bite.  Only the light in his eyes said 'thank you', with far more eloquence than words could ever express.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>It was quiet -<em>too quiet,</em> Flack thought, and laughed at himself for sounding like he had just stepped out of some old Raymond Chandler movie.  <em>Don Flack, Private Investigator...</em></p><p>"What's so funny?" Mac said gruffly.  A cold wind sidled past them and he raised the collar on his trench coat.</p><p>"Oh... nothing."  Mac's solemn manner grounded Flack and he composed his features.  "Just thinkin', that's all.  Our luck's been pretty bad so far.  You reckon the Piper'll come this time?"</p><p>"If he bought Adam's story, he'll come."  Mac's reply was short but Flack could still hear the rough note of concern.  In a strange way, it comforted him.</p><p>Adam's story.  "That lab tech of yours... he did good, for a rookie."</p><p>"Yes, he did."  Not for the first time, Mac turned away and peered along the dark street as a car made its way towards them... and sailed past, its elderly driver totally oblivious of his momentary status as a suspect.  Directly opposite, the curtained windows of Ruth Eggar's apartment block cast their warm glow out across an otherwise dark and unwelcoming scene.</p><p><em>Déjà vu.</em>  Flack sighed.</p><p>"Not him."  Over the radio, Danny's voice sounded impatient.</p><p>"Not him," Flack confirmed.  "Stay sharp - it's getting late.  Tell Fraser to step out a little.  He's lost in the shadows."</p><p>"Will do."  There was a pause, as Danny conferred with their decoy.  "You see him now?"</p><p>A quiet figure stepped out of a hollow in the building and began to pace nervously up and down the sidewalk.  From this distance, the hooded man with his backpack could easily pass for a fourteen year old.  Only Flack and his team knew that this anonymous figure was Officer Matt Fraser; recent graduate of the Police Academy and the butt of everyone's jokes back at the precinct, thanks to his boyish good looks and shorter than average height.  Needless to say, he had jumped at this unexpected chance to prove his mettle.  Flack liked him for his courage and his unflappable good humour.  "Yeah, I see him.  Thanks, Danno."</p><p>Still clutching the radio, Flack checked in with the rest of their teams, each one stationed at a suitable vantage point, both for observation and for action once the Piper finally appeared.  Then he squinted at his watch.</p><p>"It's five minutes since the last time you did that," Mac informed him wryly.</p><p>"Then teach me your ways, Zen Master.  How is it you look so calm, 'cause honestly?  I'm twitchy as a cat with fleas and I know you gotta be the same."</p><p>"Lovely image."</p><p>Flack shrugged.  "I do my best."  Once more, a car passed by and both men fell silent.  By the time it melted into the darkness, Flack's brain had jumped to a new topic.  "Know what I hate most of all about this guy?"  He waited for Mac's response, but none was forthcoming.  "He's smug.  He's playin' some kinda sick game and he thinks that makes him smarter than us.  I pity Darrow."</p><p>"I pity the children," Mac said.</p><p>That brought Flack to a staggering halt.  "You think I don't?"</p><p>Mac held up his hand in a bid for peace.  "I'm not arguing with you.  I'm just saying - Darrow chose to do his job, regardless of the cost, and I admire his sacrifice.  But the children are the victims here.  I can't forget that."  He frowned.</p><p>"You're thinkin' of those pictures in your office," Flack muttered.  "I know that look."  He straightened and took a deep breath.  "We'll get him," he said resolutely, trying to raise Mac's spirits.  "Third time's the charm.  I've decided."</p><p>"Oh?  You've decided?"  One of Mac's eyebrows lifted, ever so slightly.</p><p><em>And that will have to do.</em>  Flack gave a nod.  At the same time, a white car turned into the street, cruising slowly...</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Walking in a straight line was a challenge.</p><p>"You mus' think I'm such 'n idiot," Adam sighed regretfully, as he leaned on Darrow's arm.  The tall man was his ballast in a lurching sea of inebriation.</p><p>"Not at all.  Here's the car."  Darrow let go of Adam and propped him up for a moment as he dug in his pocket for the keys.  "Like I said, you needed release and you found it."</p><p>"Wish I hadn't," Adam muttered, sliding down the shiny surface of the metal.  At the last minute, he pushed upwards.  "Never been so drunk...  C'n hold my liquor, usably... no, that's not right," he corrected himself.  "Usa... usally...  Mostly."  Happy with the solution to his linguistic problem, he gave a satisfied nod - and wished he hadn't done that either as the world spun yet again and took his balance with it.</p><p>Darrow laughed.  "I believe you," he said, reclaiming Adam's arm before he fell flat, and swooping him into the passenger seat with surprising ease.  Then he buckled the seatbelt around him.  "Better safe than sorry," he advised.  Adam gave a giggle and clapped his hand across his mouth.</p><p>"Oops," he mumbled through his fingers.  "Don' know where that came from..."</p><p>Time shuddered.  Now Darrow was beside him in the driver's seat, and the car was moving.  "Wait... no," Adam murmured.  "Where did it go?"</p><p>"Where did what go?"  Darrow was concentrating on the road, but he risked a glance in Adam's direction.  His face was full of sympathy... until the features all began to merge with one another.  Adam jerked his gaze away.</p><p>"Nothing.  It's okay.  I'm okay...  You need t'know where I live, right?"</p><p>"You already told me," Darrow said.</p><p>And that was something else he had lost.  Too many moments disappearing.  Adam began to feel nauseous.  The world was hurting him; bumping and swerving and...</p><p>"Okay," he whispered for a third time, closing his eyes in grateful submission.</p><p>When he opened them again, the world was still.</p><p>They had parked in a lonely street.  Darrow's door was open and his long legs stuck out of the car.  He leaned upon them with his elbows.  His head was in his hands.</p><p>"Are we there?"  Adam forced out the words.  For some reason, his tongue felt sticky, as though he hadn't used it for a long time.  He peered at the agent.  "Wha's the matter?"</p><p>"Do you trust me?" Darrow said.  His voice was muffled by his hands.</p><p>Adam endeavoured to answer the question, strange as it was.  "Of course."  He shrugged, and winced at the pain in his head which was sparked by the movement.  "You're th' FBI."</p><p>"I don't consider that an honest answer."  Darrow turned and stared at him.  His pale eyes were deep and unfathomable.  Adam felt an unwelcome chill.</p><p>"I... I think I do," he stammered, trying to explain himself more clearly.  "Trust you, I mean.  You're a good man, Agen' Darrow."  Had he said that before?  It sounded so familiar.  Adam blundered on.  "You c-care..."  It was hard to be logical when his teeth were chattering in the cold night air and his brain felt like cotton wool.  But Darrow seemed to appreciate the words.</p><p>"Thank you, Adam," he said.  "I thought as much.  For the record, I trust you too.  And yes - we're here."</p><p>Adam peered out of the passenger window.  "Okay, but this doesn't look li' my street," he protested.  "Are you sure you didn't take a wrong turn somewhere - you know, while I was sleeping?"  <em>Sleeping?  </em>The voice in his head was harsh.  <em>Passed out, more like.  Disgusting...</em></p><p>"I'm sure.  Step out of the car, if you please."</p><p>With a sigh, Adam opened the door, unbuckled his seat belt - which took several attempts - and swung his feet out onto the tarmac.  "Alrigh' - but if you're tryin' to kidnap me..." he quipped as he stood up and wobbled precariously.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Adam felt a prickle in  his shoulder blades.  "Tha' was a joke," he offered, longing to turn around but frozen by his irrational fear.  The mood was unbearably solemn.  The lonely street was grey and poorly lit.  So far, no one had passed them and none of the buildings appeared to be residential.</p><p>Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he reconsidered carefully.  "Am I still asleep?"</p><p>"No," said Darrow.</p><p>"Drunken hallu... hallucination?"  Adam fumbled with the word.</p><p>"I'm afraid not."</p><p>"Then wha's going on?" he whispered.  Inside, he could feel himself curling into a ball, like a little boy under the bed, trying in vain to protect himself.  On the outside, he was still a man.  And a man was supposed to be strong.  Adam clenched his fists and turned - to find that Darrow was standing too.</p><p>"Are you planning to hit me?" the agent asked mildly, looking down at him.  "I've not hurt <em>you</em>, Adam.  I would never do that.  Don't you understand?"</p><p>"I'm beginning to."  Grateful for the barrier between them, Adam held onto the car for dear life.  "You go' me drunk on purpose, didn't you?  Tha's not friendly."</p><p>"It was necessary."  To his credit, Darrow looked a little shame-faced.</p><p><em>Am I reading this wrong?</em> Adam wondered.  "Nece...  Nessess...  Okay, but <em>why</em>?" he demanded.</p><p>"Would you have come with me otherwise?"</p><p>"Maybe," Adam argued.  "Guess we'll never fin' that out."</p><p>Darrow bowed his head in acknowledgement.  "You're right - and I'm sorry for that.  Will you come with me now?"</p><p>"Do I have a choice?  You're bigger'n me," Adam murmured.  "<em>So</em> much bigger..."</p><p>"Everybody has a choice."  There was a weary cast to Darrow's shoulders.  He rubbed his face with his hands and then laid them down on the roof of the car, palms upward in supplication.  "I'm so tired," he confessed.  "Adam.  Boo.  Please believe me.  I mean you no harm."</p><p><em>So you say,</em> Adam thought, almost blinded by the headache that was taking hold of him.  Promises could be undone - but Darrow was right about one thing.  He <em>did</em> have a choice and, somehow, he knew exactly what to do.  Maybe it was the look in Darrow's eyes.  Or maybe it was the realisation that here and now, at this very moment, he had the chance to do something right - something <em>very</em> important - and if he let that moment slip by, it would never come again.</p><p><em>Mac would do this, </em>Adam told himself.</p><p>He walked around the car with difficulty, trying not to lose his balance.  Finally, he stood in front of Darrow.</p><p>"Okay - so where are we going?" he said.</p><p>Darrow's answering smile was wonderful - and terrible.</p><p>"I told you already.  I'm taking you home."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Chapter 34</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Thomas hated shopping at the best of times.  His usual tactic was a kind of grab-and-run fiasco, rather like a trolley dash but with live obstacles.  He could never understand why people liked to stop and chat right in the middle of the aisle, or in front of the milk, or the cereal, blocking his way and ignoring his pained expression as he willed them to move.  For them, buying food was a social event to be savoured.  For him, it was a trial.</p><p>Today was even worse.  It was a Saturday afternoon and the store was heaving; mothers with red-faced infants; a gaggle of elderly women engaged in a heated debate about the rising cost of bananas; one young couple who were so incense with each other's choices that they separated, stalking the aisled with their own baskets and pulling the most ridiculous things from the shelf in clear anticipation of their partner's horror when the final tally was displayed.  Thomas watched them slyly for a while, pausing by the frozen peas and letting the cool air revive him.  Standing still gave him a whole new perspective on the scene.  A sneaky little tune began to run through his head as the angry woman strode past, her sharp heels clicking on the floor: <em>not fair, not fair, not fair...</em>  A howling baby turned into a wailing violin while its anxious mother was the fussy counterpoint.</p><p>"The Supermarket Symphony," Thomas muttered to himself, with a grin.  He couldn't wait to share this humorous thought with Adam.</p><p>Stepping out of the house and leaving the boy on his own had been far more difficult than he had ever anticipated.  Adam had taken it all in his stride.  It was Thomas whose active imagination played on his nerves as he shut the front door with a bang.  Such an ominous sound.  What if...?</p><p>What if Adam hurt himself?</p><p>What if Thomas had an accident crossing the street and ended up in hospital?</p><p>What if Charles Ross came back?</p><p>"Yes, and what if you gave yourself a heart attack?" Thomas muttered grimly.  "Get a grip.  You'll be gone for an hour at most."  Raising his voice, he called through the door.  "Don't let anyone in, okay, Adam?  Just stay out of sight."</p><p>"Okay."  The reply was faint but sturdy.  Thomas nodded, feeling far from satisfied.  But his options were limited.  Food was essential and, more than that, he had made a promise to Adam that he intended to keep at all cost.</p><p>New clothes for a new start.</p><p>That was two hours ago.  Time moved incredibly fast when you were trapped in a human eddy.  Not to mention the fact that Thomas, who took such little notice of his own appearance, spent a whole hour choosing Adam's new apparel in a children's clothing store.  The young red-haired assistant had been more than helpful.  Something about his awkward manner (or his accent) had attracted her and he had exploited that weakness with far less shame than he knew he ought to feel.  As a result, he had walked out with two full bags and a shoe box containing a brand new pair of red Converse trainers.</p><p>Adam was going to be thrilled.  Thomas could picture his wide blue eyes, and the thought made him smile like a fool.  It was a new delight to buy things for someone who would appreciate them.  Someone who had probably never worn anything brand new in his life.</p><p>All that remained was the dreaded food shopping.  Even here, Thomas had found a few treats and slipped them into his trolley along with the other supplies.  Jelly beans.  Coca Cola.  A chocolate cake, ready-made, and a tub of ice-cream.  He even stopped by the magazine stand and spent some time leafing through the kids' comic books.  Three went into the trolley, and so did a travel magazine with a picture of the Empire State building on the cover.  'Come to New York,' it declared.  'Have the time of your life in this magical city.'</p><p>Thomas stepped back into the swirling current of shoppers and tried to think what else he needed.  Wandering back to the fruit stand in search of nutrition, he spotted the angry young couple.  By chance or design, they had met up again and were peering into each other's baskets with wry good humour, ashamed and amused by their own behaviour.  <em>They're going to make up, </em>Thomas thought happily.  Somehow, it seemed like a positive sign.  The world was not so bad after all, when quirky moments like that could make you smile and reconsider your own situation.</p><p>His heart felt much lighter as he turned away - but it nearly stopped when he saw who was standing directly behind him.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Hiding in the shadows with Danny Messer and Detective Maka, Lindsay was so close that she could actually see the uncertainty on Allan's face through the windshield of his car as he pulled up alongside the hooded young man.  Fraser's face, on the other hand, was so well concealed that she found herself trying to picture him as Adam's alter-ego, Boo - cat ears and all.  The ridiculous image made her smile for a second or two, but she soon sobered up when a new thought struck her like a wave of ice water.  This really <em>was</em> an extension of the game - a dangerous one; and Lindsay could only feel relieved that Adam was <em>not</em> the target.</p><p>"You cold, Montana?" Danny hissed in her ear.  His breath tickled and she resisted the urge to laugh.</p><p>"I'm fine," she whispered back.  "Do we wait?"</p><p>"We do."  Bat-like, Kaile Maka honed in on their conversation and supplied her own opinion frankly, mouthing the words in near-silence.  Lindsay found her forward nature slightly unnerving and yet, at the same time, she admired the woman's confidence.</p><p>Danny agreed with Maka's comment.  "Let him hang himself first."</p><p>The phrase was harsh - but Lindsay knew that Danny had been tightly wound ever since Allan had slipped through his fingers for a second time.  Not only that; the boy Jack had disappeared as well.  Danny wasn't the sort of man who hid his disappointment.  Here in the dark, his tension bled into his posture and, through him, into Lindsay who felt it keenly on his behalf.</p><p>Hiding in such cramped quarters could be painful if you were there for long enough, and the three of them had been huddling together in the same tiny alcove for more than an hour by now.  Lindsay was stiff... and yes, very cold, though she was never going to admit it.  They were a team, and a team was only as strong as its weakest member, right?</p><p>Reaching out, Lindsay's keen sense of smell could no longer separate their combined essence - Danny's musky aftershave, Maka's subtle perfume (was that jasmine?) and her own clean scent.  As time passed by, their breathing had also drifted into a shared pattern.  She marvelled at the strangeness of it all; that three individuals who barely knew each other could come together so quickly and function as one.  At least, Lindsay barely knew <em>them</em>.  There did seem to be an undercurrent of some kind running between Danny and the female detective.  She wondered about that, as the long minutes passed.  Then Allan arrived, and there was no more time for fanciful thinking.</p><p>Fraser halted in his pacing.  Edging towards the kerb, he waited for Allan to make the next move.</p><p>All around him, undiscovered, invisible eyes watched his progress.</p><p><em>Are you frightened?</em>  Lindsay tried to put herself in Fraser's shoes.  <em>I know I would be.</em>  Frightened and excited at the same time, and so full of adrenaline that she could barely keep still...</p><p>Allan rolled down the window.  "I'm pleased to <em>see</em> you," he said.  There was no mistaking his emphasis.</p><p>Every inch the wary teen, Fraser moved closer.  "I wasn't sure I could do it," he whispered back, their conversation caught neatly by the microphone secreted in his clothing.  The watchers could hear every word, and they waited silently for their suspect to incriminate himself beyond all reasonable doubt.</p><p>"It's a leap of faith."  Allan nodded wisely.  "You have faith, my friend."</p><p>"In you.  I'm so grateful."</p><p>"I'm going to take you someplace that'll blow your mind," the man promised.  Lindsay felt her stomach turn over.  What kind of creep were they dealing with?  She clenched her fist in her pocket and knew without looking that Danny was doing the same.  Maka's face was impassive, and colder than ice.</p><p>"And it's safe?"  Fraser looked back over his shoulder with the furtive instinct of someone who feared discovery.  "Like you said?"</p><p>Allan regarded him through the open window.  "You'll always be safe with me.  Is there... a problem?"</p><p>"No," Fraser reassured him.  "No.  I'm fine.  Let's do this, okay?"</p><p>He walked around the car and opened the passenger door - but did not get in.</p><p>"Wait," said Allan, and his voice held a strange note that Lindsay could not quite identify.  Beside her, Danny shifted warily.</p><p>"Not good," he muttered.  "Don't drop the ball, Fraser..."</p><p>"What's up?" the young man asked, leaning in so that they could catch Allan's reply.  "I did what you said.  I'm here, and I'm ready."</p><p>"Tell me your name."</p><p>"My... what?  I'm Thomas.  Like I told you before; Thomas Lawson."</p><p>There was a long pause.  Watching Allan, Lindsay wished that she could hear the thoughts running through his twisted mind.  Finally, he spoke, and Kaile Maka groaned beside her as his words came over the microphone, loud and clear.  "I think I've made a mistake.  I'm sorry to have wasted your time, young man.  Please close the door and let me be on my way."</p><p>For a split second, Fraser faltered.  He was, after all, very young and so new at this.  He shot a nervous glance in their direction - and Allan caught it.</p><p>"As I suspected," he said.</p><p>The engine, which had been idling, roared into angry life.  Without stopping to close the door, Allan backed the car away, full tilt down the narrow street.  Lindsay felt a wrench, as though he were tearing himself from the trap that had closed in around him.</p><p>Across the street, Mac broke from the shadows, followed almost immediately by Detective Flack.  Both men had already whipped their guns from their holsters and were taking aim as they ran.</p><p>"Fraser, get outta there!"  Danny's cry was urgent as he led the charge from his own hiding place.</p><p>Lindsay followed after him, her heart pounding.  She almost lost her balance when her foot slipped into an unseen crack but Kaile reached out a hand to steady her.  Lindsay blurted out her thanks as the two women hurtled onwards.</p><p>Allan was nearing the end of the street by now, veering sharply to and fro as the open door swung like a broken limb or a loose rudder.  There was no room to turn, so he continued in reverse; too busy fighting with the wheel to check his rear view mirror.</p><p>That was his fatal mistake.</p><p>As if from nowhere, a second car appeared, swerving round the corner with such reckless abandon that Lindsay could almost believe its tank was full of alcohol, instead of gasoline.</p><p>Like a seer, she saw the impact in her mind before it happened.  Her hand flew up to her mouth as it played out for a second time, in stark reality.  Allan glanced over his shoulder, far too late, and saw his own death coming.  There was no way to avoid it and no time left to fling himself from the car.</p><p>Eyes wide, he left the world in terror.</p><p>Lindsay knew his face would haunt her dreams that night.</p><p>The noise of the crash was horrific; a sound explosion that left them all stunned and gasping.  When Lindsay came back to herself, Danny Messer was by her side.  He did not say a word, but then, there were no words left to say.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>You're making a big mistake.</em>
</p><p>Joseph Darrow looked down at the young man who was stumbling along beside him.  Adam's eyes were red-rimmed and tight with pain.  He held himself stiffly as he tried to stay upright all by himself and take note of where he was going.</p><p>Such a courageous effort.</p><p><em>You did this, </em>Darrow accused himself, feeling sick to his stomach.  He had crossed a line; violated Adam's rights.  That wicked extra shot, tipped into Adam's bottle when he wasn't looking - that was a crime.  <em>You're a criminal.</em></p><p>Finally, he had gone too far.  The line was crossed and he was the one who had chosen to cross it.  "I jumped," he murmured.  "I wasn't pushed."  <em>The guilt is mine and I have to deal with that.  </em>Was it worth it?  Only time would tell.</p><p>"Wha'?"</p><p>Adam's rough voice broke into his reverie and made him realise that he, too, must have spoken out loud.  <em>Guard your thoughts, </em>he told himself angrily.</p><p>"This really isn' the way my day was s'posed to end," the young man continued, seemingly unfazed by Darrow's reluctance to answer his question.  Clearly, Adam was used to chattering on when people ignored him.  "I was gonna go back to my place... order takeout... you know, I'm still kinda hungry.  I don't remember the last time I ate.  Maybe tha's why the alcohol hit me so bad... you think?"</p><p>He peered upwards, searching Darrow's face for any kind of response.</p><p>"Or was that your fault?" he asked suddenly.</p><p>Darrow refined his assessment of Adam's condition.  "You must be feeling better," he said, steering Adam down a side-alley.  Above their heads, a dark building rose, windowless and totally devoid of character.  About their feet, a nasty little wind stirred, trying to trip them up as it worried at their heels like a dog.  Sure enough, Adam swayed and faltered.  Darrow reached out and gripped his arm.</p><p>"Not so much," the young man said bleakly.  "Tha' wasn't Guinness.  I like Guinness.  I don' like this."</p><p>He was sinking into a mournful state of mind.  His blue eyes widened as he stopped and took in their surroundings, craning his head to stare upwards.  A grey crack split the darkness overhead; the only sky that they could see.  There were no stars at all in the heavens tonight.</p><p>"Nearly there," Darrow told him brightly, trying to convey a sense of confidence that he no longer felt.</p><p>This was all so personal.  And yet it was he who had brought the intruder.</p><p><em>You're making a big mistake.</em>  Darrow shook his head and turned away from Adam's troubled gaze.</p><p>
  <em>I'm so tired...</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>The dark building felt like a mountain, and he was a mouse.</p><p><em>A drunken mouse, </em>he amended with a sigh.  That wasn't part of the story - Ruth Eggar's story - but he was lost in it, all the same.  In his tipsy state, everything took on a slightly fantastical edge and he felt increasingly certain that this was a dream.</p><p><em>No,</em> said logical Adam, inside him, fighting to be heard.  <em>No, it's not.</em></p><p>Darrow was muttering to himself again as he searched in his pockets for something.  They had left the car far behind them on the lonely street.  Adam tried to get his bearings but, in truth, he had no idea where he was, or even how long he had been asleep.  He could only hope that he was still in New York City.  It <em>smelled</em> like New York.  And it <em>felt</em> like New York - but what did he know?  How could he trust his instinct anymore when it had let him down so badly?</p><p>He stared at the tall man, and shuddered.</p><p>"Who are you?" he said.  Suddenly, that seemed to be the most important question.</p><p>With a creak and a groan, a great metal door swung open, revealing a great black hole in the great black wall before them.</p><p>"After you," Darrow said.  His old-fashioned manners had been charming to begin with.  Now they were downright creepy.  Adam stood his ground, in a wobbly, wide-eyed kind of way.</p><p>"First, you tell me the truth," he insisted.  "<em>Then</em> I walk into the scary building."</p><p>"The building <em>is</em> the truth."  Darrow gestured to the doorway once again.</p><p>"Stop speaking in riddles, okay?  This isn't a game..."  If it was, he would know what to do.  And that was a useful thought, he realised.  <em>Pretend.  Just pretend...</em></p><p>"If you come with me, I'll answer all your questions.  Please, Adam; I know you'll understand.  Trust me."</p><p>Adam considered.  "Okay then," he lied, ignoring the voice in his head that screamed it was <em>so not okay</em>.  With a breath so sharp that it almost cut him open from the inside, he took a faltering step through the doorway... then another... then another.  Darrow followed at his back, looming over him like a swollen shadow.</p><p><em>Boo walked into the dungeon,</em> Adam's brain whispered.  <em>Danger lay in front of him and danger lay behind...  The man who betrayed him...</em></p><p>When Darrow closed the door, it was worse than any darkness he had ever known.</p><p>Then a light flashed on, blinding Adam with its unexpected brilliance.  As he blinked his streaming eyes, he heard Darrow fasten the lock - so final - and his heart beat even faster.  "Sorry," the agent said quietly.  "I should have warned you."</p><p>"Yes, you should."  Adam rubbed a fist across his face and tried to focus.</p><p>That was when he heard a new voice.  It was high and pleasant.  Adam peered through a fog of his own creation and found that he could just make out a round, pale face and a mop of red-gold hair.</p><p>"Joseph!  You've come back again," the young girl said - and then, in a tone that was far more suspicious: "Who's this?"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Chapter 35</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Charles Ross looked equally startled to see Thomas.  "I know you," he said slowly.  "Didn't we...?"</p><p>"Meet this morning - yes."  What was it about the man's cold stare that turned him into a babbling idiot?  "I mean... I was outside my house and you were looking for your boy...  Did you find him?  Ross," he added, jerkily.  "Charles, right?  And your boy's name is..."</p><p>"Adam."</p><p>"Adam.  That's a nice name."  Filled with a panic that he could not show, Thomas kept on improvising, even as his brain was screaming at him to stop talking - screaming with Adam's voice.  "Chestnut hair," he said, nodding wisely.</p><p>Charles looked as though he would rather be anywhere else.  "Like I told you."  He turned his head to scan the crowd around them and, for the first time, Thomas noticed that he wasn't pushing a trolley of his own, or even carrying a basket.</p><p>"You're still searching," he blurted out.</p><p>
  <em>Stop talking.  Stop now!</em>
</p><p>Thomas felt an unexpected pang of sympathy as Charles gave a weary shrug.  "That boy is stubborn - like his father."</p><p>"All boys are, to some degree."  Thomas tried out a smile but, even from the inside, it felt weak and unconvincing.</p><p>"What are you saying?"</p><p><em>Good question, </em>Thomas thought, although he did not like the tone that Charles had used.  Maybe it was his imagination but it felt as though the people passing by were giving them curious glances.  Would this man start an argument - or worse, a fight - in the middle of a public place?</p><p>Thomas thought about the marks on Adam's back.  He thought about shame, and the secrecy of adults.</p><p><em>You're a coward,</em> he decided - and suddenly his fear subsided.  Holding up his hands, he tried another smile and this one was perfect.</p><p>"I'm just agreeing," he said.  "So, you think he'll come home when he's ready, then?"</p><p>"He will."  Thomas could almost hear the silent phrase that followed: <em>if he knows what's good for him.</em></p><p>"But you're still looking anyway."</p><p>"I'm his father.  You have kids?"</p><p>"No," Thomas said.  "No, I don't."  <em>Just your son, hiding back at my house...</em></p><p>
  <em>Stop talking!  Walk away!</em>
</p><p>"Then you don't know.  When family goes missing, it's like you've lost an arm or a leg.  It tears at you, and you can't settle till you're whole again."</p><p>Thomas couldn't help himself.  "I gather you speak from experience."</p><p>Charles Ross glared at him.  "You don't know me.  And you don't know my son.  Think you're better than me?  I doubt it."</p><p>"I don't think that," Thomas lied.</p><p>The withering glance moved down to the contents of his trolley.  Thomas himself had played that judgemental game many times in the long queue for the checkout.  People's choices said so much about their lives, and he always felt like a modern day Sherlock Holmes as he tried to unravel the mystery.  As he made assumptions.</p><p>Just as Charles Ross was probably doing right now.</p><p><em>Oh God, </em>Thomas thought.  <em>I'm a fool.</em></p><p>The fear came flooding back and all at once, he was ice cold; the slippery kind of chill that comes with shock.</p><p>Oh yes - there it was, for all the world to see, if only they could read the clues.  Clues?  <em>Try flashing neon signs, </em>Thomas scolded himself with increasing bitterness.</p><p>Jelly beans.  Chocolate cake.  Ice cream.  Comic books, for heaven's sake.  And stashed at the opposite end of the trolley, two bags, stuffed full of children's clothing, with the store name cheerfully emblazoned on their brightly coloured sides.</p><p>Thomas didn't know how brave he was until he forced himself to meet the eyes of his unwitting foe.  Charles Ross was frowning slightly; the crease above his nose returning, like an angry scar.  A sure sign that the cogs were spinning...</p><p><em>Run away,</em> squealed the voice in his head.</p><p>"Well," Thomas said, so calm and polite that he almost didn't recognise his own words.  "I must be off.  Nice to meet you again.  I hope your boy comes home soon."</p><p>And just like that, he left.  Walking away with his trolley was agony.  Thomas clenched the handle so tightly that he almost broke his fingers.  No need to look back.  He knew beyond all doubt that there was a pair of ice-blue eyes boring twin holes in his skull.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>"Gretchen," Agent Darrow cautioned her softly.  "That's no way to treat our guest."</p><p><em>Am I a guest,</em> Adam wondered, <em>or am I a prisoner?</em>  Darrow's actions were nothing short of suspicious, his manner was downright creepy and yet, somehow, Adam could not bring himself to think of the agent as a villain.  It all came down to the same problem.  <em>I may be gullible, </em>he thought.  <em>I know my faults.</em>  But Mac had welcomed Darrow too - and Mac didn't seem to be a foolish man.  It was a riddle that left the tipsy lab tech in a state of confusion, swaying back and forth between fear and deep curiosity.</p><p>One thing he did know for certain; good manners cost nothing.  "Hi.  I'm Adam Ross," he offered, trying not to show how well and truly out of his depth he felt himself to be.  He rubbed his watering eyes and focussed carefully.</p><p>The young girl - for young she clearly was - stuck her hands on her hips and ignored his timid overture.  "I saw you coming and I want to know.  What's he <em>doing</em> here?" she demanded of Darrow.  "Why'd you bring him?"  She wrinkled her nose like a cat who has found an offensive smell.  "Wait - is he <em>drunk</em>?"</p><p>"I'm afraid that's my fault."  Darrow gave a weary smile.</p><p>Adam's throbbing headache served to shield him from the agent's charm.  "That's what you said before," he protested, trying not to slur his words.  So much for first impressions.  "But I don't get it, okay?  Why would you be so mean?  And why <em>did</em> you bring me here?  You know, wherever here is... 'cos I'm not really sure..."</p><p>Gretchen turned the full force of her teenage glare upon him.  <em>I liked it better when she blanked me,</em> Adam decided, wriggling with discomfort.  He still hadn't worked out how much danger he was in but those sharp green eyes were an effective weapon, reducing his ego to a fraction of its former self.  How on earth did kids <em>do</em> that, anyway?</p><p>"I'll stop talking now, shall I?" he muttered, feeling grumpy and ill-used.</p><p>Brushing past him, Darrow led the girl further down the corridor.  The powerful Maglite flashlight went with them, leaving Adam in the shadows by the locked door.</p><p>He watched their whispered conversation, which was urgent and involved a lot of gesturing on Gretchen's behalf.  The more Adam's gaze lingered on her face, the more something troubled him.</p><p>"Where have I seen you before?" he whispered.</p><p>And then, as the conversation ended and both Gretchen and Darrow turned their heads to study him, a light went on inside his muddled brain, illuminating everything.  The truth was so blindingly clear that it staggered him.</p><p>"<em>This</em> is the end of the game," he said.  "Isnt' it?"</p><p>Darrow nodded silently.  Was that relief in his eyes?</p><p>"You're the Piper; I mean, <em>really</em>.  And you."  Adam pointed to Gretchen.  "You're on Mac's wall.  His glass wall - you're one of the children."</p><p>Folding her arms, the young girl doubled the intensity of her glare.  "I'm fifteen years old, thank you very much.  How old are you?"</p><p>"Gretchen..." Darrow said, trying to soothe her rancour with his solemn tone.</p><p>"I'm so dumb," Adam moaned.  "I don't believe it.  You tricked us all - even <em>Mac</em>!  All that time, you were right there beside me..."  His eyes narrowed as he wrestled with the concept.  "How did you...?  Why did you...?  I <em>trusted</em> you."</p><p>"Does he always go on like this?" Gretchen said.</p><p>Adam's anger increased, and so did the pounding in his head.  "Oh, hey, I'm sorry - am I being unreasonable?  <em>Please</em> forgive me."</p><p>"Sarcasm really doesn't suit you," Darrow suggested mildly.</p><p>"Treachery doesn't suit <em>you</em>," Adam countered, "but I guess that didn't stop you, did it?"  His voice was shaking.  He took a deep breath and controlled it.  "Joseph.  What am I doing here?"</p><p>"I want to show you something," Darrow said.  He waved his hand and the dazzling beam swung away from them, pointing down the corridor like a long, white finger.  "Won't you come and see?  Please, Adam?"</p><p><em>You make it sound like I still have a choice.</em>  The door was locked behind him and the only way that he could go was forwards.  Forwards with the madman and his... victim?  Sidekick?</p><p>Adam bowed his head.  The act of submission was painful, and not just because of his headache.  <em>But I'll play along, </em>he decided.  <em>I'll be good.</em></p><p>Good as gold - until he found the perfect opportunity to sneak the cell phone from his inside pocket and call for help.  All he needed was a minute to himself.  They could track his signal...  Mac would be amazed...</p><p>"Lead the way, then," he said, wishing with all his heart that he had a save point beside him right now.  A means of resetting the game when he screwed it up.  If this was the dungeon - bad word, that - then he really didn't like the feel of it.  Too many shadows... and what <em>was</em> that smell?  The damp of ages, mixed with some kind of dust that made his nose itch.  Adam sneezed.  "Ouch," he mumbled, as the sudden jolt made his head ring.</p><p>Darrow slipped his hand through the crook in Adam's arm and held him steady.  "It gets better," he promised.</p><p>"Okay..."  <em>Couldn't get much worse.</em>  Adam tried to stay alert and memorise their route but it was difficult - and not just because of his tipsy state.  The corridor twisted around on itself like a ball of string thrown down and left to roll away.  There were only so many times that a person could whisper 'left' and 'right' to himself before the words lost all meaning.  Giving up at last, he turned his attention to the girl who strode ahead of them.  Gretchen's ankles flashed in the beam of light, hypnotising him with their brisk, repetitive motion.  He was so absorbed that when they disappeared, he froze completely.</p><p>Where had she gone?</p><p>"Oh.  Stupid..." he muttered, when he looked up and saw the open doorway right in front of them.</p><p>"We're here," Darrow said, unnecessarily.</p><p>He guided Adam forwards and, together, they stepped out into a space so vast that the outer walls were lost in darkness.  In his dreamlike state, Adam could almost believe that the room went on forever.  Much to his relief, the air was cleaner here, and warmer too.  Little islands of light shone all around them, like campfires in the desert.  The effect was strangely beautiful.  Turning off his flashlight, Darrow let Adam's eyes grow accustomed to this new level of illumination.  Attracted by their presence, a number of shadowy figures began to peel away from the circles of light and move towards them, muttering quietly.</p><p>Adam knew exactly who they were.  He was so glad to see them - and yet, somehow, he was terrified as well.  All the questions he longed to ask Darrow were trapped in his throat, held captive there by an old, irrational fear, and he knew it would take a great effort to set them free - but he meant to try.</p><p>Gretchen had slipped away in the darkness, but now another child came forwards.  The young boy approached them and held out his hand, palm upwards, in a hopeful gesture.</p><p>"Did you remember?" he said to Darrow.</p><p>"I did."  The agent reached inside his jacket.  Dark eyes watched him eagerly.  Adam watched as well.  With a flourish, Darrow pulled out a book and passed it to the boy, who clutched it with both hands and hugged it to his chest.</p><p>"Thank you, Joseph."</p><p>"It was my pleasure."  Darrow bowed his head in acknowledgement.  "I read that one many times when I was your age - and older, I must confess.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.  'Tom Sawyer'," he added, for Adam's benefit.  "A classic story."</p><p>Adam nodded.  Sure, why not?  He didn't think that anything else would surprise him - not even if Tom himself should escape from the pages of his own tale to appear in their midst, as he did at his very own funeral.</p><p>The boy rejoined the crowd, which surrounded them now.</p><p>Hating the voice that betrayed him whenever he needed it most, Adam forced out a question for Darrow's ears only.  "The children.  Right?"</p><p>Darrow understood his query.  "Yes," he said.  "They're all here, safe and sound... well, nearly all of them..."  His deep voice tailed away regretfully.  Others filled the silence with their own questions.</p><p>"Where have you been, Joseph?"</p><p>"Who's that with you?"</p><p>"Are they coming?"  A dark-haired boy with a scowling face took a bold step forwards, squaring up to Darrow.  "You told 'em, didn't you?"</p><p>"Only this one," Darrow said.</p><p>"Then he's a cop."  The boy spat out the word as though it was an insult.  "Cops are useless.  Bad idea."</p><p>Darrow raised his hands in an attempt to quell the muttering that followed.  "He's not a cop; not like them.  He's one of us.  He's Boo."</p><p>"You're Boo?"  This new girl was older than Gretchen or the dark-haired boy and her smile was genuine.  She walked right up to Adam and took his hand in both of hers.  He blushed at the unexpected contact.  "I'm so pleased to meet you.  Joseph is right; you belong here."</p><p>"Says you."  The dark-haired boy was sceptical.  "I bet you fancy him, Georgie."</p><p>"That's gross..."</p><p>"He's too old..."</p><p>"Georgie loves Boo..."</p><p>Giggles and jokes chased around the ring of children like an absurd game of Chinese Whispers.  Adam was still flustered.  "I'm sorry; what do you know about Boo?" he croaked.</p><p>Georgie opened her mouth to explain but Darrow stopped her with a gentle shake of his head.  "Not now," he said.  "There's plenty of time for that later."</p><p><em>Later</em>.  Adam didn't like the sound of that.  "Um..." he began, but Darrow stopped him too.</p><p>"I promise," he told the young man quietly.  "The answers to all your questions.  Until then..."  He seemed to have an endless number of pockets.  From yet another, he produced a bag of sweets and handed them over to Georgie for distribution.  "You must be hungry."</p><p>"Not really for sweets, if it's okay with you."  Adam pulled a face, making Darrow laugh out loud.  That sound and the sweets combined to lighten the mood, although the sullen dark-haired boy continued to glower resentfully.</p><p>"This way," the agent said.  Some of the children trailed after them, while others disappeared into the darkness.  Adam scurried to keep up with Darrow's long stride.  He soon realised that they were heading towards one of the larger circles of light.  As they drew closer, he was able to see that the light came from an arrangement of lamps, and the lamps were set in a cosy alcove.  Here, there was a wall of sorts, made up of cupboards and a big refrigerator that hummed away to itself.  There was also a long table, lined with benches, and a stove with a hood that rose high out of sight.</p><p>"What's your pleasure?" Darrow asked him.  Adam was amused to note that he had taken on the subtle air of a gracious host at a dinner party.</p><p><em>You're proud of this place,</em> he thought.  <em>And you've had nobody to share it with...</em></p><p>Was <em>that</em> the reason Darrow had brought him here?</p><p>The agent continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer.  Behind him were several more expectant faces, ghostly echoes of the pictures on Mac's wall.  Adam noticed that the dark-haired boy was following them too.  He shivered, and turned away from the hostile gaze.  "Um... a sandwich, I guess?" he ventured.  His stomach rumbled in agreement.</p><p>Smiling, Darrow gestured to the table.  Adam sat down obediently and slid along the bench until he was in the middle.  Much to his surprise, two children stationed themselves on either side of him; the boy with the book and a girl whose face was so familiar to him by now that he could hardly catch his breath when he noticed her for the first time.</p><p>Ruth Eggar.</p><p>Right here in person, the girl who had haunted him for days without ceasing.</p><p>There was a strange kind of one-sided bond between them - could she feel it too?  <em>Ridiculous,</em> Adam told himself.  She knew nothing about him; to her, he was a perfect stranger.  Swallowing, he wondered whether he should address her by name, or feign ignorance of her identity.  Darrow watched Adam closely.</p><p>"Ham or cheese?" was all he said, however.</p><p>Adam was about to reply when a new sound made them all jump - a harsh, insistent buzzing like an angry bee, trapped in a pocket.  <em>Darrow's</em> pocket; and, of course, it wasn't a bee but a cell phone vibrating in silent mode.</p><p>A strange, compelling certainty took hold of Adam.  <em>Mac,</em> he thought.  <em>It's Mac.</em>  He couldn't explain his instinct but the hope that filled him was almost overwhelming.</p><p>At first, Darrow seemed indecisive, as though he was going to ignore the call - but then he moved away and pulled the phone from his pocket.  The buzzing had stopped by now.  Darrow waited for a message.  When it came, he read it to himself, hunching over the screen to protect his privacy...</p><p>...until, all of a sudden, his whole body jerked in a spasm.  The phone dropped from his fingers and fell to the ground with a clatter.  As the screen went dark, Darrow turned back to face them.  Guilt and triumph fought to gain control of his shocked expression.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he mumbled.  "Something's happened...  I never meant...  I only..."  He swallowed, trying to finish at least one sentence.  "Adam, I have to go; right away.  But you'll be safe here, I promise..."</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Chapter 36</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>The house was so quiet. </p><p>Adam stood in the hallway and felt the silence close in around him.  He had promised to be brave and, of course, he meant to keep his promise, but being alone in a strange house was not at all how he had imagined it to be.  The longer he waited, the more reluctant he was to move or make a sound.  He felt lonely and small, a misplaced thing.  The house didn't want him; he didn't belong there.  Not without the man who made it right.</p><p><em>Thomas, </em>he whispered inside his head.  And then, softly: <em>Momma...</em></p><p>Where was she, anyway?  Why had she left him?  She must have known how bad it would be.</p><p><em>I don't care,</em> he thought fiercely.  If he saw her again, he would run to her and fling his arms around her... and she would hug him back, and they would go away together... with Thomas, too, because she would like his kind new friend, he knew it...  Adam closed his eyes and dreamed for a while, happy in his own world.</p><p>Outside, on the main road, a truck rattled past and broke the spell.  Momma faded from his thoughts and left him all alone again.</p><p>"You're dumb," he told himself.  The words dropped like pebbles from his lips.  "You're so dumb," he repeated, louder this time.  He balled his fingers into fists and jammed them on his hips.  "It's just a stupid ol' house."</p><p><em>You got me,</em> the house seemed to say, with a mournful sigh that he could almost hear.</p><p>"Want some noise?" he asked.  "It'll make us feel better, I guess."</p><p>Moving at last from his lonely spot, he shuffled into the front room and collected Mr. Boo, who was sleeping on his tummy in the nest.  The cat didn't seem too happy at being disturbed - or maybe he always looked like that.  Adam didn't care.  Here was someone else that he could talk to and now that his tongue was free, it ran away with him.</p><p>"Did you know?" he said.  "Thomas has gone to the store.  I wonder what he'll buy.  I'm hopin' peanut better, an' maybe hot dogs...  I like hot dogs..."  He gave a hopeful little grin.  "When I'm a grown man, okay, I'm gonna eat hot dogs all day long, and donuts, in New York City.  You can come too, if you like, an' you're good, Mr. Boo."</p><p>The cat stared at him with its green button eyes.</p><p>"I get it.  You're thinkin' maybe, maybe not.  But we gotta make plans."  He lowered his voice confidentially.  "I'm gonna work hard.  I don't care if they laugh at me.  I'm gonna do something really important."  He faltered.  "I just don't know what it is yet.  But no one's gonna stop me."  Picking up the guide book from the floor where it lay, he cradled it against his chest, along with the old, worn out cat.  "Maybe I can learn music, like Mister Thomas."  His eyes lingered on the chess board.  "Or, you know, play games an' do puzzles all day.  Think there's a job that'll pay you for that?"</p><p><em>No, </em>said the cat's eyes scornfully.  Adam shrugged.  "I bet there is," he said, with the stubborn confidence of youth.  "I'll find it.  And there'll be people there just like me; not angry and mean but kind, alright, and happy.  Don't look at me like that," he added crossly, holding the cat out at arm's length.  "That's how Daddy looks."</p><p>Daddy.</p><p>All of a sudden, a cold fist gripped his heart and Adam's dream changed colour, from brightest gold to shades of grey.  Now he could see the truth of it, and the truth was hopeless.  He was living in a fantasy.</p><p><em>You'll never make it,</em> a sly voice whispered.</p><p>The guide book fell to the floor with a crash.  Adam threw the cat across the room.  Mr. Boo landed upside down on the piano keys, his long tail dangling over his face.  His back legs stuck out helplessly.</p><p>"Oh," Adam gasped.  "I'm sorry."</p><p>Reaching the piano, he picked up the cat that was his oldest friend and cuddled him, feeling desperately cruel.  Through the worn fluff, he could feel the lump that was Mr. Boo's red sock heart.  He pressed his fingers to it, like a doctor feeling for a beat.</p><p>"Do you love me?" he whispered.</p><p><em>Yes, </em>said Mr. Boo.  This time, there was no mistaking his expression.</p><p>"I love you too," Adam said, and a single tear ran down his cheek.  He brushed it away.  "Want to learn?" he asked the cat, placing Mr. Boo's paw on one of the ivory keys.  Together, they pressed down carefully and a single note rang out.  "That's C," Adam told him, in a fair imitation of Thomas.  "Like, you know, 'c' for 'cat'.  Want to try another one?  Okay, this one's 'A' for 'Adam'..."</p><p><em>Push away the bad thoughts.  Let the good ones out.</em>  Those were the words he sang to himself as Fate set her sights on him and drew closer.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Darrow stepped out of the circle of light and vanished.  Meanwhile, it took Adam several minutes to extricate himself from the bench.  "Excuse me... please... can I just...?" he mumbled, as he tried to untangle his legs without hurting the children.  In the end, it was Ruth who moved aside, and he thanked her.  She watched him gravely as he lurched to his feet.  He could feel her gaze upon him and he yearned to speak with her.  Right now, however, his own freedom was at stake and he could not stop for a friendly chat.  Throwing caution to the wind, he stumbled after the agent.</p><p>Big mistake.</p><p>Adam's sense of direction had always been good but his head was still pounding and that made it hard to concentrate.  Then, of course, there was the darkness itself, which destroyed any sense of connection to this strange world, leaving him utterly disorientated.  He knew the likelihood of finding his way out was slim to none.  Only a miracle would save him.  Overwhelmed by doubt, he lurched to a halt and stared at the random patches of light around him as though they had lost all meaning.  Where had he come from?  And where was he going?  And was this a nightmare?  He couldn't be certain of anything...</p><p>"Yes," he growled.  "I can be certain of Mac."</p><p>Hope flared in his chest, vying with the whip-like panic that drove his heart.  Adam reached into his pocket...</p><p>...and hissed in dismay.</p><p>Hardly daring to believe the awful truth, he searched his clothes thoroughly but, in the end, he could not deny it.  His cell phone was gone.</p><p>"You took it!" Adam accused the invisible agent.  "I don't believe it.  You picked my pocket when I was asleep - you coward."</p><p>Such a shame that Darrow wasn't there to state his case or - here, Adam wandered into the hopeful realms of fantasy - to return his phone and confess that this whole charade had been a mistake.  Scowling at the empty air, Adam drew himself up straight and made a decision.</p><p>No one was coming to rescue his sorry ass.</p><p>"It's all on me, then," he muttered.</p><p>"Yes," said a soft voice behind him.  "It is."</p><p>Soft, but not pleasant.  He thought it might be the dark-haired boy, but he couldn't be sur.  <em>Tread carefully,</em> he warned himself.  "What?  Who's there?"</p><p>"We get found, it's all on you.  This is <em>our</em> secret, not yours."</p><p>Adam began to turn but, as he did so, something else caught his attention; a subtle pressure in the small of his back.  The darkness, and his own terror, played on his imagination.  Was it a knife?  A gun?  Or some kind of crazy bluff?  He felt a wild urge to laugh at the thought that he might be shaking in fear of something truly ridiculous, like a banana.</p><p>Then a sharp point pricked his skin, having slipped right through his clothing, and he knew.  From that moment on, he was horribly calm.</p><p>"I didn't ask to come here," he said quietly - resisting the truth that nudged him and whispered: <em>you did.</em></p><p>Warm breath tickled the back of his neck as the boy leaned in.</p><p>"Bet you were lookin', though."</p><p>"I was.  To help you.  I wanted to help you, okay?"</p><p>"Yeah - help us right into a foster home, an' a system that jus' treats us like a problem to be solved.  Or worse - send us back where we came from."  The boy's voice grew strong as he warmed to his subject.  "I'm not gonna let that happen.  Got it?"</p><p>"What do you mean?"  So much for the Piper's sanctuary.  He had stolen all these children away from the lives that they feared - but fear is tenacious.  It clings to the host and never allows itself to be dismissed so easily.</p><p><em>No,</em> Adam thought with a shiver.  <em>Fear fights back.</em></p><p>"I mean I'll stop you."  The knife point slid into his flesh, barely breaking the skin, but that was all the warning Adam needed to make the lesson very clear.  An involuntary cry burst out of him.  Seconds later, the voice and the needle-sharp pressure were gone.</p><p>Alone and unseen in the dark, Adam wrapped his arms around his chest and hugged himself tightly.  "Help," he whispered to the empty air, not really trusting that anyone would come for him; not now.  He was seven years old again and he didn't know what to do.  His plea was meaningless - no one was there to hear it, after all - but the word gave him comfort and so he repeated it.  "Help me..."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>The brand new home of the County Medical Examiner might not have moved very far geographically but, in Mac's humble opinion, it was worlds away from the old one.  No more gothic crypt, no more grim tools hanging in dark closets.  No more making do with outdated equipment.  No more cot beds in the ante-room...  Just like its sibling, the Crime Lab, this morgue was shiny and new.  The same work went on here but, through simple relocation, it had lost its sinister edge and planted itself firmly in the realms of modern science.</p><p>Was that a good thing?  <em>Yes, </em>he decided.  Death was unsettling, no matter how - or where - you confronted it.  An M.E's attitude should consist of respect for the victim and absolute dedication to the case.  The same, he thought wryly, was true of a CSI..  Futuristic décor and fancy gadgets ought not to be so important - and yet he couldn't escape the fact that this was better.</p><p>Clearly, Dr. Evan Zao thought so too.  Facing them across the broken body of Richard Allan, he favoured them with a welcome grin that would have been inappropriate, had his level gaze not tempered the effect with its gravity.</p><p>One step ahead of her boss, Stella reached the table first.  "Not a pretty sight," she observed, with regret.</p><p>Zao nodded.  "You said it.  Autopsy's pending - he just arrived on my table - but I'd say it's more than likely he died on impact.  Straight through the windshield and 'goodnight Vienna'."</p><p>Mac raised an eyebrow.  Zao shrugged.  "Beatles fan," was his cryptic explanation.  "Sorry."</p><p>They leaned in to take a closer look at Allan's injuries, guided by Zao.  As they did so, Mac felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the body on the table, Zao's words or even his surroundings.</p><p>Someone had crept in behind them.  A breath, like a sigh, was released.</p><p>Mac turned as Zao straightened.  "Can I help you?" the M.E. asked politely with an air of puzzlement.</p><p>"Dr. Evan Zao - Agent Joseph Darrow," Stella said, by way of a soft introduction.  This was not the time for loud voices or complicated explanations.  "Are you alright?" she continued, focussing her attention on the bewildered agent.  "This must be quite a shock for you."</p><p>"I don't know... how to feel," he admitted.  Mac waved him forwards but he didn't move.  Having made it through the door, he had finally reached the limit of his courage.</p><p>Stella left Mac's side and moved to comfort him.  "It's over, Joseph," she said, as she took his arm in hers.  "You don't have to see him... unless you want to."</p><p>"I need to," he admitted mournfully.  "It's my fault..."</p><p>"I very much doubt that."  Mac found that he had cast himself as the voice of reason.  "Were you driving the car?  Did you force him to come to the meeting?"</p><p>Darrow swallowed and took another step towards the table.  With a display of compassion that made Mac warm to him, Zao folded his hands together and moved back silently.  <em>Take all the time you need, </em>his action said.  He stood like a guard of honour in the background as Darrow gazed upon his fallen nemesis with hollow eyes.</p><p>Bending down, the agent brought his lips so close to Allan's ear that they were almost touching it.</p><p>"What did you do with her?" he whispered.</p><p>Mac frowned.  Had he heard correctly?  <em>Her,</em> not <em>them.</em>  Such a tiny detail, and yet...</p><p>Staring at the man, he felt an unexpected surge of alarm, like a jolt of electricity that knocked his heartbeat out of sync for one vital moment, changing everything.  The world felt wrong, somehow.  Had he made a mistake?  Had his trust been won over by deception?  The very thought sickened him.</p><p>"Don't worry - we'll find them," Stella reassured Darrow.  Over his bowed head, she exchanged a glance with Mac that left the detective in no doubt of one thing, at least.  She felt it too; the uncertainty.  He could see it in her eyes.</p><p>Rising up, Darrow shook his head.  There was a fatalistic slump to his shoulders.  "I don't see how."</p><p>"We deal in answers here," Mac said firmly.  "That <em>is</em> why you came to us - isn't it?"</p><p>Now it was Darrow who twitched in surprise.  But Mac had chosen his words with care, and his face was impassive as he continued.  "Dr. Zao, we'll leave you to your work.  Agent Darrow - walk with me?"</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>A thin white beam cut through the darkness like a beacon of hope.</p><p>"There you are," said a voice.  "You shouldn't go wandering off, you know, until you get your bearings."</p><p>Kind words, which snapped Adam out of his daze.  "Oh - I know," he admitted.  "Have you come to rescue me?"  He searched for the right name.  "Georgie?"</p><p>"That's me."  Tilting the flashlight, she lit her own face from below.  The effect was ghoulish yet her smile was reassuring.  She was pleased that Adam had remembered her.</p><p>He favoured her with a sheepish grin in return.  "Hello again," he said.  "I guess I should introduce myself properly this time, right?  I'm Adam.  Adam Ross."</p><p>"I thought your name was Thomas."</p><p>That made him start.  "Okay, how did you know about that?"</p><p>For a moment, Georgie didn't answer.  Her face fell back into shadow as she turned the beam away to light their path instead.  "Joseph said he wants to be the one who tells you.  I'm meant to find you a bed, that's all.  I'm sorry..."</p><p>Clearly, Agent Darrow's hasty departure had left this girl in an awkward position as well.  "Are you in charge, then?" Adam asked her gently, keen to find an ally since he already seemed to have made at least one enemy.  Darrow's status still confused him.</p><p>"I'm the oldest," Georgie replied.  "That means I have responsibilities."  Following close at her heels, he felt rather than saw her shrug.  "We all do, really."</p><p>"You're... a family."  Adam chose the word deliberately.</p><p>"We are."  There was warmth in her simple affirmation, and a strong sense of pride.  "That's what Joseph calls us too.  You can choose your family, you know," she added stubbornly.</p><p>"I know."  <em>If I was someone else,</em> he thought, <em>like Mac or Stella, I could give a speech right now and win her over.  Make her set me free...</em>  But he was just Adam Ross, and the problem was, he understood.  How could you argue with someone who saw things the same way?  Georgie was a brave girl.  She had taken her life into her own hands and tried to make it better.</p><p>The one he should be talking to was Darrow.</p><p>But Darrow had gone.</p><p>Besides, Adam's brain was muddled beyond all reason right now and bed seemed like a heavenly option.  Time enough to straighten things out in the morning.</p><p>He tried not to think about the fact that he might fail...</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Chapter 37</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Footsteps.  Urgent, from the sound of them, marching up the path to the front door.</p><p>Adam crept to the window and huddled to the left of it, peering out through a sly gap where the curtain almost met the wall.  The angle was an awkward one.  He cricked his neck trying to catch sight of the figure at the door.  Even now, he couldn't help fearing that, by some magical insight, his father had found his hiding place and come to take him back.  In the end, it was a sound that reassured him; the snick and rattle of a key in the lock.</p><p>Not Daddy, then.  Only one person had the right and, more importantly, the ability to enter the house that way.</p><p>"Mister Thomas," he sighed with relief.  Shuffling across the room, he made it to the hallway just as the front door opened, revealing his friend at last.  Thomas was laden with bags.  It was very exciting.  Adam tried to stay calm, but there was a fizzing in his chest, like the feeling he got from swallowing sherbet powder far too quickly.  He was, after all, a seven year old boy and presents weren't a common occurrence in his short life.  "Did you get...?"  Pausing, he shook his head and tried to restrain himself.  "Want me to help?" he offered instead.</p><p>It was the right thing to say; he knew that.  He also knew he could peek in the bags if he was carrying them...</p><p>Thomas set his load down on the floor.  He shut the door and locked it, sliding the chain home for good measure.  Then he turned and stared at Adam.  For a while, they stood like that - the young boy with his eager face, and the tall man, so quiet and thoughtful.</p><p>Rattled by the silence, Adam decided to break it.  "I was perfec'ly safe on my own.  Mr. Boo an' me, we played the piano.  I hope that's okay..." he added cautiously.</p><p>"Of course."  The words were positive but, at the same time, Thomas shook his head, which confused Adam even more.  He looked like a man waking up from a puzzling dream, who can't be sure that he has made it back into the real world.  "And yes, take some bags if you want to.  This way."  He gestured to the piano room.</p><p>Adam's injured back protested when he bent down to pick up the brightest and most appealing bags.  He gave a muffled squeak and straightened quickly, hoping Thomas hadn't heard him.  "Did you have fun?" he enquired, leading the way with his heavy load.  "Did you see lots of in-ter-esting people?  What...?"</p><p><em>What did you buy</em> <em>me?  </em>That was the question he yearned to ask.  <em>Greedy,</em> said the mean voice in his head; the one that always pulled him down to earth again when he was floating, happy and light-hearted, like a balloon rising into a bright blue sky.</p><p>Running out of confidence, he shut his mouth with a snap and looked back at Mister Thomas.  The man hadn't answered any of his questions.  That was odd.  His gaze was steady but his face was pale.  That was peculiar too, because it was sunny outside.  "Are you sick?" he asked with deep concern, dropping the bags on the floor beside his nest.</p><p>"Sick at heart," Thomas muttered.  Adam almost missed the words, so softly were they spoken.  He didn't understand their meaning so he thought about them carefully.  Your heart was part of your body - he knew that - and it kept you alive.  Momma said the heart was where you loved people, too.  So, if Thomas was sick at heart - was he sick of caring about Adam?  Or was he broken on the inside, like Daddy's car when the engine stopped working?</p><p>Adam swallowed.  Neither idea was comforting.  "Can I help?" he said.  "D'you want to go to bed, an' I can bring you milk or something?  Or, you know, a sandwich?"</p><p>"I forgot the bread."  Vaguely, Thomas looked down at the scattering of bags around his feet.  "I couldn't...  Look, Adam."  He took a deep breath.  "There's something I have to tell you.  It's very important."</p><p>"Okay."  Now Adam was afraid.  He felt sure that Mister Thomas didn't want him there anymore.  He was going to tell him to leave; that had to be it.  Adam clenched his fists and tried to stand up straight, but his legs were shaking.  "Jus' say it," he suggested bravely.  "That's the best thing to do.  Please?" he added.  <em>Please get it over with...</em></p><p>"I made a bad mistake.  I met... your father."</p><p>There was a ringing in Adam's ears.  He thought it was shock - but when Thomas turned his head towards the front door, the young boy realised that his friend could hear it too.  The sound of the doorbell was quickly followed up by the hammering of an angry fist.  The front door rattled - and held firm.</p><p>"I didn't tell him," Thomas hissed.  "Whatever happens next, believe me."</p><p>"Okay."  Adam's eyes were wide and he clutched his hands together.  The beautiful dream was about to end.  He knew it was.</p><p>Inside the nearest bag, he could see a smart red box.  It bore a picture of a pair of sneakers.</p><p>"I believe you," he whispered, feeling a rush of love for the man who had taken him into his home without question and bought him such a wonderful gift.</p><p>Mister Thomas never heard him.  With the chain still firmly in place, he was already opening the door...</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Joseph Darrow was a mystery waiting to be solved.  He was also a man in shock, which meant that Mac couldn't simply pin him against the nearest wall and demand to know everything.  <em>Not that I would, </em>he told himself - and then, with a tiny smile: <em>not without provocation...</em></p><p>No, this problem required a far more subtle approach.  After all, Darrow's strange behaviour in the morgue didn't automatically make him a villain.  As for Mac's gut instinct, strong at the time but fading now - how many times had he been mistaken in the past?  <em>Don't jump to conclusions,</em> he decided.  <em>Look for the truth instead.</em>  What was that curious saying?  The one about catching a monkey?</p><p>
  <em>Softly, softly...</em>
</p><p>Dawn was already breaking over Manhattan.  In some ways, it had been the longest night imaginable - and yet, how quickly it was ending.</p><p>"Take a seat," he said, leading Darrow into his office and gesturing to the brand new couch.  Stella hovered in the doorway, uncertain for once, and he waved her in as well.</p><p>The agent seemed to have lost his voice somewhere between Autopsy and the Crime Lab.  He sat down with an air of obedience that rang yet another alarm bell in Mac's head.</p><p>"Coffee?  Tea?  Or something stronger?"  <em>You look like you need it, </em>Mac thought.</p><p>"Just water, please," Darrow answered thickly.  His voice sounded distant, as though he had dragged his concentration back from somewhere very far away.</p><p>"I'll get it," Stella suggested.</p><p>"No," Mac said.  "I will."  He needed space for a moment, and time to think.  What better opportunity than a simple errand?</p><p>Leaving Darrow in the capable hands of his colleague, he strode to the break room, which was blissfully empty at this early hour.  Mac filled a cup with water and moved to stand in front of the window, staring out at the city and letting his mind do the work, as his body relaxed.</p><p>Questions.  He had far too many, and he needed to decide which ones were urgent.</p><p><em>What made me trust Darrow?</em> Mac thought, forcing his way to the heart of the matter.  <em>And why don't I trust him now?</em>  Darrow's noble quest to convict Allan and save the children felt like something out of an old story.  His passion had inspired Mac - but here at the end, with the monster dead before him on the table, Darrow was faltering.  Beneath the mask of a hero lurked something darker and not altogether good.  Mac sensed its presence, even though he barely understood it.</p><p><em>Where are the children?  </em>That was the question the agent <em>should</em> have asked.  That was the question Mac asked himself right now.</p><p>
  <em>What if...?</em>
</p><p>He hardly dared to put his theory into words.  It was crazy - and yet, somehow, it made sense of everything.</p><p>
  <em>What if Darrow already knows the answer?</em>
</p><p>Startled by a cold sensation, Mac looked down.  His grip had tightened around the fragile cup, destroying it completely.  Water dripped to the floor, released by his own hand - released like the children, all of whom were victims from the start.  Had the Piper truly kept his word to them?  Mac stared at the growing puddle and caught his breath at what he now perceived to be the sheer audacity of Darrow's plan.</p><p><em>If I'm right, </em>he cautioned himself.  <em>Please, let me be right.</em></p><p>Because, if he was, then this tale could still have a happy ending.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Bed was a mattress in a quiet alcove, and a pile of blankets.  To Adam, in his weary state, nothing could have been more welcoming.</p><p>"You didn't bring anything with you," Georgie observed.  She folded her arms.  "Will you manage?"</p><p>"I didn't know I was coming here," Adam confessed with a shy grin.  He liked this girl.  "I'll be fine."</p><p>"Okay."  She gave him one last, furtive glance, and then slipped back into the shadows.</p><p>Now he was free to let go.</p><p>Dropping down in a heap, Adam reached for a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.  Exhaustion bled through his body, thick like treacle, and overwhelming.  "So tired," he murmured to himself, as he turned off the nearby lamp, curled on his side and dragged the blanket up to his chin.  "Sleep first..."</p><p>
  <em>Worry later...</em>
</p><p>That was the plan, and it seemed like a good one - but as sleep took him, Adam's brain rebelled against it.  Dreams came quickly, and in quick succession.  He fled from one to the next, always running, always in darkness.  There was a shapeless fear behind him, driving him onward.  Pain was the spur; phantom memories that made his body ache in sympathy.  He thrashed against them, tangled in the blanket, twisting and turning until he awoke with a tortured cry.</p><p>"Daddy, no!"</p><p>So stupid.  Dreams couldn't hurt him, and the man he feared was far away.  Adam knew the logic.  Stubbornly, he slowed his breathing and tried to relax but the strangeness of his situation, and the threat of further nightmares, kept him teetering on the brink of sleep, unwilling to let go again.</p><p>He was done with being a victim.</p><p>Instead, he lay there in the dark like a homesick child, longing for daylight and planning a thousand improbable ways to escape.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Left on her own with Agent Darrow, Stella tried to coax him out of the shell in which he was slowly encasing himself.  After a moment of careful reflection, she sat down beside him on the couch and reached for his hand.  It was warm to the touch; so warm that she almost pulled away.   Instinct made her hold on, and she knew that her decision was the right one when he turned and met her gaze.</p><p>"Kind of you," he said.</p><p>"Not at all."  She matched his brevity, and waited.</p><p>Darrow stared down at their two hands, clasped together.  "You're lucky, Stella," he murmured.  "Being here.  Part of a strong team like this one.  It's hard..."</p><p>"...to be alone?" she guessed, understanding the leap that his thoughts had taken.</p><p>"Yes.  For far too long."  His pale eyes narrowed.  "No one to help me, or share my decisions.  They thought I was mad, you know."</p><p>"I know."  <em>You told me that before,</em> were the words she chose not to say.  Let him speak.  Let the mystery unravel itself through his own words.  Over the agent's shoulder, and beyond the glass, she saw Mac returning from the break room.  One tiny shake of her head cautioned him to wait outside.  He frowned - and halted, trusting her impulse without question.  <em>Part of a team...</em></p><p>"And maybe I <em>am</em> mad," Darrow continued softly.  "I do wonder, sometimes."  He smiled at Stella, but it was not a comfortable smile.  She drew back, ever so slightly.  At the same time, out of nowhere, a noise broke into their conversation.  It was raucous and intrusive; rock chords blaring in a tune that Stella recognised, repeating in a loop.  A ring tone, maybe, or some kind of alarm?</p><p>"Yours?" she said in astonishment,</p><p>Darrow looked equally startled.  "Oh..." was all he could manage.  His pale eyes were shifty.  Pulling his hand away from her grasp, he froze as the music continued to play.</p><p>"I suggest you answer that," said a steely voice.  Mac had entered the room at last, and he was glaring at Darrow.</p><p>When the agent failed to respond, Mac stepped in front of him and reached into his pocket, removing a mismatched pair of cell phones.  One was silent.  The other was vibrating merrily, dancing along in his palm to the tune of 'Sweet Child O' Mine' by Guns and Roses.  An early morning wake-up call - and who would choose a song like that?</p><p><em>I really hope I'm wrong,</em> Stella thought.</p><p>Mac dismissed the alarm.  A grinning picture on the screen made the owner's identity painfully clear.  He held it up for everyone to see.</p><p>Stella's heart sank.  For a moment, there was silence.  When Mac spoke again, his voice was tight with suppressed anger.</p><p>"Agent Darrow," he growled.  "I'm going to ask you something, and I want your answer to be <em>very</em> clear.  It's a simple question. Why <em>exactly </em>is Adam's cell phone in your pocket...?"</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Chapter 38</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>"You've got my kid in there, haven't you?  I want him back."</p><p>Thomas stared through the crack in the door.  "That's blunt," he said to the angry man.  There was no point in denying the accusation.  <em>I'm not a liar,</em> he thought.  With quiet dignity, he stared at Adam's father and waited for him to make the next move.  The man was a blustering bully.  All the same, Thomas was glad of the chain on the door.</p><p>"You some kind of sicko?  You like little boys, is that it?"  There was a look of pure disgust in Charles' eyes.</p><p>"Certainly not.  I resent your accusation."  Outwardly, Thomas was cool and concise.  On the inside, he was screaming: <em>not again!  Oh God, please, not again.</em>  All too aware that Adam was standing somewhere behind him, he didn't need to see the poor boy's face to picture his expression.  He had seen it before, all those years ago, on Samantha.</p><p><em>Stop that,</em> Thomas told himself sharply.  <em>Don't go there.  Adam is the one who needs you now.</em></p><p>"Let me in," Charles demanded.</p><p>"I think not."</p><p>"Let me in or I'll break down this door."</p><p>There was a tight little sob of dismay from the hallway.  "Break down this door," Thomas said, "and I'll call the police."</p><p>Charles took a step back.  His tone was smug, as though Thomas had fallen right into his trap.  "Go ahead."</p><p>"I'll show them the marks on Adam's back."</p><p>There!  A tiny flinch that was almost imperceptible.</p><p>"Try it," Charles said roughly.  "Let's just see how well that turns out for you.  Boy!" he yelled, and this time it was Thomas who flinched.  "I know you're in there.  I'm gonna count to five and I expect to see your face, right in front of me, quick sharp.  Got that?  One..."</p><p>Thomas abandoned all caution.  "Stay back, Adam," he said over his shoulder.  "You don't have to do this.  I gave you my word and I intend to keep it."</p><p>"Your word."  The man's voice dripped with scorn.  "He's a six year old kid."</p><p>"Actually," Thomas replied, "I believe your son is seven."</p><p>"Think you've made some kind of point?" Charles growled, his face bright red.  "Two..."</p><p>"Adam was frightened.  He needed a safe place to hide.  From you, Mr. Ross, and that should tell you something important about your parenting skills, don't you think?"</p><p>"All boys need discipline.  Something you clearly know nothing about, Mister Do-As-You-Please.  Three..."</p><p>"Discipline.  I'm sorry, is that what we're calling it now?  How polite."</p><p>"Let me in."  Charles clenched his fists.  "Let me in, or you'll be sorry."</p><p>"What," said Thomas, "are you going to hit me too?"</p><p>"And waste my time fighting a coward?  You're soft - all sympathy and stupid notions.  What did you promise him?  What did he tell you, boy?"  Raising his voice, Charles called to his son.  "You think you can stay here forever?  Real life isn't like that.  It hurts and it's cruel, but it teaches you, okay?  It teaches you to be a man."  With a curl of his lip, he stared Thomas down.  "Not like your 'friend' here.  Disgusting.  Four..."</p><p>"Stop," said a husky little voice.  "Stop counting."</p><p>"Five," Adam's father said promptly.  "Too late."</p><p>Thomas gripped the door with both hands and prayed the chain would hold.  Charles Ross favoured him with a look of contempt.  "Like I said - not worth the effort.  I'm in the right here; the law's on my side.  You're Nobody.  I'm the boy's father and I say he's coming back home with me."</p><p>"No, I'm not," Adam whispered, but only Thomas heard him.</p><p>"Surely that's Adam's decision?" he said to Charles.</p><p>"At seven years old?  The boy's slow and stupid.  He can't string together a full sentence most of the time, let alone tell you where he wants to live."</p><p>"That's a charming way to speak about your son.  Adam," Thomas continued, suddenly.  "Say his name - go on, say it.  He's not just 'the boy'.  He's a kind, intelligent person and he knows exactly what he wants, thank you very much."</p><p>"Is that so?"  Charles folded his arms and a sly look came over his face.  "Ask him.  I dare you.  But tell him this first - or I will, 'cos I know he's listening, okay?  If he chooses to stay with his precious new friend - that's you - then I'll be the outraged father who calls the cops.  Oh, and believe me, I'll tell them all about you.  A single young man, with a child in his house - my child.  Alone together, all night long, and how many times before that, they'll be wondering?  Look at the marks on his back, I'll say, and point my finger straight at you.  I'm a respected member of this community; have been, my whole life.  I'm a husband and a father.  I pay my way.  Ask yourself, who are you?  What friends do you have?  Not many, I'm guessing.  Now, ask him."</p><p>Thomas felt sick.  He was frozen with fear, but he couldn't let Charles see that.  Not for the world would he let Adam's father know just how close he was to winning.  "Time," he managed to blurt out; his throat so dry that it was a miracle he could speak at all.  "Give me time.  To talk.  With him."</p><p>"I can do that."  Never had a shrug been more triumphant.  "Doesn't matter, anyhow.  I know what the answer'll be.  You can't risk it; not for him."  Once more, he raised his voice.  "You got one hour, boy.  I'll see you back home in an hour, on my doorstep, ready to apologise for all the trouble you've caused me.  If not..."  He let the word linger.  No need to finish the sentence.  "Well, I guess I made my point."</p><p>"Loud and clear," Thomas mumbled, his jaw clenched so tightly that sparks of pain went shooting up through his teeth.</p><p>"Nothing left to say, then."  Turning around dismissively, Charles marched away down the path, his shoulders high, his stride determined.  Thomas watched him go, then shut the door and leaned his back against it, masking the shudder that wracked his whole body.</p><p>Adam stood before him, balancing carefully on his sore feet.  His blue eyes were wide and his lashes were damp, but he did not cry.</p><p>"Mister Thomas?" was all he said.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>At some point, Adam realised, he must have fallen asleep again.  It was a dreamless sleep and passed so quickly that he did not even notice it.  His only clue to its fleeting existence was a sudden and almost inexplicable brightness all around him.  Gone were the shadows.  Gone were the lamp-lit havens.  Eagerly, he sat up in his rough bed, throwing off the blanket and digging his fingers into the creases of his bleary eyes, as though that action could wipe away every last trace of weariness, to leave him clear-sighted at last.</p><p><em>I'm going to need my wits about me, </em>he realised, staring at the true face of Darrow's utopia.</p><p>It was a brave new world, grafted onto the grimy remains of an old one.  A disused warehouse of some kind, if Adam's instincts were correct, with a strange, gothic grandeur of its own, captured in a vaulted ceiling and a central glass dome that sent beams of light cascading down to the ground floor, past five levels of iron railings and open walkways, lined with doors.  Dust motes danced in the air above his head.  For a moment, he watched them spin, lost in a distant, unexpected moment from his past - until a high laugh caught his attention, dragging it back down to earth.  His nostrils twitched at the smell of... was that really bacon?  <em>Breakfast time,</em> he thought - and suddenly, he found that he was ravenous.</p><p>A crowd was beginning to gather around the area that Adam guessed to be the kitchen.  Studying his surroundings in more detail, he began to see that there was an order to everything.  This was no random camp in an empty building, but a child's tented hideaway, swollen to dream-like proportions.  Each section was like a room in itself, hemmed in by hanging cloth and full of books and beds, and treasured belongings of every description; worn-out teddy bears and pale-faced dolls, skateboards, musical instruments and even an antique globe.</p><p>He had found the lost children, alright.  But now he was lost too, and that was a bit of a problem.</p><p>"Understatement of the year," he sighed, and hugged himself for comfort.</p><p>This was no day at the office - yet Adam could still think like a criminalist, if he chose to.  Freaking out was not an option.  He knew beyond all doubt that Mac, his brand new hero, would have turned the whole situation to his advantage by now.  But Mac wasn't here; only Adam.  <em>So Adam will just have to do,</em> he told himself, and felt a little better, somehow, for his brave assertion.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, he tightened his resolve and rose to his feet.  That was when he noticed her, standing quietly behind him with her arms folded, waiting to be seen.  Her green eyes were lined with smudges that spoke of a sleepless night, and they seemed very large in her white face, which was framed by a mass of dark hair.</p><p>"Ruth," he blurted out - and immediately wanted to kick himself.  <em>Oh well, </em>he thought.  <em>Too late to take it back now.</em>  "You're Ruth Eggar, aren't you?"</p><p>"Yes," she said, and faltered.  Adam could tell that she wanted to ask him a question, but didn't know how to begin.</p><p>"Looks like the mouse made it all the way to the Mountain," he ventured softly.  It was a gamble.  Ruth's mouth fell open and she glared at him until he started to feel quite uncomfortable.</p><p>"You read my story," she accused him.  "You took my laptop.  Jack was right; you <em>are</em> a cop."</p><p>"I work with cops.  Not the same thing, I promise.  Besides, I've only been doing this job for a couple of days."  Shrugging, he made a confession.  "I read <em>all </em>your stories, if you must know, and not just because I had to.  I really liked them."</p><p>"You're just saying that."</p><p>"No, I'm not.  They made... well, they made a lot of sense to me.  I get it, Ruth, okay; I really do."</p><p>"Of course you do.  You think you know every little thing about me, just because you decoded a couple of metaphors.  Typical grown-up."</p><p>"Me?"  Adam grinned.  He couldn't help it.  "Hardly."</p><p>"Doesn't matter anyway," Ruth said.  "You're stuck in here now, same as me."</p><p>She turned away, but not before he caught the guilty look upon her face.  "You miss your brother, Jason."</p><p>"I left him behind," she whispered.  Then she turned back, so painfully hopeful that Adam could hardly bear it.  "Have you seen him?"</p><p>There it was at last, the question Ruth had been longing to ask.  He wished with all his heart that he could say 'yes'.  "I'm sorry - no.  But look, I know he's safe.  Your mom too - they're in a hostel right now.  Paul... your dad... he can't touch them."</p><p>"So you say."  She shook her head.  "You don't know him.  He always gets his way, in the end; trust me."</p><p>Adam bit his lip.  The high voice, so full of despair, and the twisting fingers - he felt her pain as though it was his own.</p><p>"Trust my boss," he managed to say, at last.  "I saw his face, when we tried to work out how you got away.  Your dad's not going to hurt you or your family ever again.  Not if Mac has anything to do with it."</p><p>Ruth shook her head.  "I don't know your boss.  And I don't know you."  She held back her tears, but the struggle was written all over her face.  "I don't known who to trust; not anymore.  I thought I did - but I've been so stupid..."  Letting her gaze drop, she hid behind her heavy fringe.</p><p>Adam touched her gently on the arm.  "Trust <em>me</em>," he said.  "My name's Adam.  I'm here to help you, Ruth."</p><p>"That's what <em>he</em> said."</p><p>"You mean the Piper."  Adam paused, considering.  Such a complicated situation and yet here he was, at the very heart of it.  "I think...  I think he tried.  It's not easy..."</p><p>Ruth lifted her head again.  "There you go again," she mumbled.  "Thinking you <em>know.</em>"</p><p>"But I do.  Know, I mean; you know?"  The conversation began to slip away from him.  Why did words always betray him at the worst possible moment?  <em>Keep it simple,</em> he decided.  "Ruth.  If you want to see Jason, then let's just leave.  I'll come with you."</p><p>Her chin rose up and now she was staring right at him again, as though he had lost his mind entirely.  "Don't you get it?" she demanded.  "That's impossible.  We're locked in - to keep us <em>safe</em>, you see?  There's no way out of here for any of us.  Welcome to the Piper's <em>sanctuary</em>."</p><p>Adam shivered.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>"I don't understand."</p><p>Lindsay spoke for all of them.  The whole team stood together in the little room beyond the two-way mirror, watching Darrow as he waited silently.  His face was blank and his eyes were dull.  Somewhere, deep inside, the man was hiding.  She only hoped that they could lure him out again.</p><p>"You're saying it was Agent Darrow all along," she continued.  "You really think he's the one who took all those children - and now he has <em>Adam</em>?  That's crazy.  Adam's no threat; not to anyone.  As for the game... he was just pretending.  Darrow knows that.  He sat and watched Adam play.  He knows Boo isn't real."</p><p>Mac pressed his lips together but his eyes were speaking clearly.  <em>Drop it,</em> they said, and so Lindsay obeyed him, changing the subject quickly to hide her confusion.  "How are we going to handle this?  He's shut down completely."</p><p>"Just give me five minutes in there with him," Don Flack suggested, frowning through the glass.</p><p>"I'm with ya, buddy."  Danny clapped him on the back, and Sheldon nodded his approval.</p><p>"No," Mac said.  "I'm taking this."  His tone was emphatic, and cold.  No one questioned his decision.  They understood, all too well, the weight of responsibility that bore down on his shoulders right now.</p><p><em>Darrow fooled you,</em> Lindsay thought, with sympathy.  <em>You trusted him - we all did - and he broke that trust.</em>  A cardinal sin in the eyes of her boss.</p><p>It was Stella who broke the silence.  "Find them," she said.  "Make him talk."</p><p>"I intend to," Mac growled, as he left the room.  <em>Immovable object,</em> Lindsay thought, <em>meet unstoppable force.</em>  For one brief moment, she almost pitied Darrow.</p><p>Then she thought of Adam, and the moment passed...</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>"Show me the door," he said to Ruth.</p><p>"You don't believe me."</p><p>"Yes; yes, I do.  I saw him lock it when he brought me in here."  At least, he thought he had.  The memory of last night was badly fractured, like a broken window.  Still, Adam clung to the pieces.  With luck, he could put them all back together and find some way to fix this whole ridiculous mess.  Much to his relief, his sore head felt better this morning and he could think clearly again.  <em>Small mercies...</em>  "That doesn't mean we can't work something out.  I'm a scientist, right?"</p><p>"So?"</p><p>"So," he continued, trying not to let the tantalising smell of breakfast overwhelm him, no matter how loudly his stomach complained.  "You know what I tell myself, when I have a problem?  'There's always a way.'"</p><p>"Mister Optimism," Ruth grumbled, but her eyes were marginally brighter.  Adam decided to call that a win.</p><p>"After you, then," he suggested, ever the gentleman.</p><p>"Okay... but you better not let the others see what we're up to.  You heard them all last night.  They like it here," Ruth told him grimly.</p><p>"Done," he agreed.  As they set off, his hand crept around to the small of his back and he shifted against the remembered chill of a knife point in the dark.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Chapter 39</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>What could he say to Adam?  Thomas simply didn't know.  He needed time to think and so he held up his hand.  "Not yet," he told the young boy gently.  "Come with me."</p><p>"Okay..."  Dutifully, Adam tried to follow him as he set off towards the kitchen.  Thomas gave a sharp 'huff' of disgust at his own stupidity.  Halting, he reached down and swung the boy into the air.</p><p>"Better?"</p><p>"Oh!  Yes, thank you."  Adam's breath tickled his cheek; rapid little gasps that matched the rise and fall of his heaving chest.  They travelled the rest of the way in silence.  When they reached the kitchen, Thomas set him down again and studied him gravely.</p><p>"I know it's a cliché," he said, "but I'm going to make myself a cup of tea."</p><p>Adam nodded.</p><p>"Is there something you would like?"</p><p>"A glass of water, please," the boy said, with impeccable manners.  Sure enough, his lips were dry and so pale that they almost blended with his skin.</p><p>"Good choice.  Why don't you sit at the table?"  Here, in the eerie, peaceful eye of the storm, they clung to manners and civility.  Outside, beyond their refuge, chaos raged.  Thomas knew that they would have to face it soon enough - but first came tea.</p><p>He made it strong and black - milk was another thing that he had forgotten to buy - and ladled in plenty of sugar, even though he hated it that way.  Meanwhile, Adam was presented with a tall, cool glass of water and a straw.</p><p>"Mister Thomas," the boy said again, but Thomas hushed him.</p><p>"Drink up."  He sipped his tea slowly, trying to make it last so that he could defer the inevitable.  <em>You're such a coward,</em> he accused himself, but he kept on sipping anyway.</p><p>"No," said Adam.  "Please."  Pushing the glass to one side, he took a deep breath.  "I have to talk now.  You said it was my de... deci..."  He frowned at his own struggle and tried again.  "Decision?"</p><p>"Yes.  I did; you're right.  But Adam, look..."  Now that the moment was here, things didn't seem quite so cut and dried to Thomas and he wavered in the face of Adam's resolve.</p><p>"I've made it."</p><p>"You don't have to... what?"</p><p>"I've made my decision."  The word was much stronger this time and Adam's chin tilted with confidence.  Thomas was deeply afraid.  He knew what was coming.  The glow of conviction in those bright blue eyes was a warning sign.  "It's time to go home."</p><p>
  <em>Oh, God.</em>
</p><p>"You can't," Thomas said in a strangled voice.  Wild and improbable plans suggested themselves, as he started to panic.  "Look, we could both run away together.  We could go to New York.  I could tell people you were my nephew or something..."</p><p>"No."  Adam shook his head.  Thomas kept on trying.</p><p>"We'll call the police.  They might listen to our side.  And then..."  He faltered.  Yes, what then for Adam?  Foster care?  His whole family, torn apart?  The private shame of a lonely child, made public?  It was an equally frightening choice - <em>and not mine to make,</em> Thomas warned himself.  For a couple of days, he had shared Adam's pain.  Did that give him the right to make Adam share it with everyone else?  To step in and change the course of this boy's life, irreversibly?  Thomas wrestled with his conscience, unable to make a decision.</p><p>But now Adam was speaking again.</p><p>"You can't get into trouble, Mister Thomas.  It's not fair.  Daddy said..."  His eyes were tight as he dragged the words from his memory.  "He said he'd point his finger straight at you.  That means he'd tell on you and say you did it, right?"  With a fierce little jerk of his head, Adam slid down off the chair again and stood up straight.  "He said you've got no friends but that's not true, okay?  You've got me.  I'll be your friend for always 'cos you tried to help me, just like Samantha.  D'you see?"  He peered at Thomas earnestly, and waited.</p><p>Thomas swallowed.  Just like Samantha - and yet, so very different.  "You're going back... to help me?" he croaked.</p><p>"Yes," Adam said.  "I'm Peter."</p><p>"Peter?"</p><p>"Peter helped his friends.  He wasn't scared of the Bad Wolf.  I'm not scared," Adam said, with only a little hesitation.</p><p>"I can see that," Thomas told him seriously.  "In fact, I think you might be the bravest person I know."</p><p>Adam shrugged.  "You make me brave," he insisted.  "I want to be jus' like you."</p><p>The statement floored him.  "Me?"  Crouching down in front of Adam, he studied the boy's eager face.  "I'm no one special."</p><p>Adam threw his arms around Thomas, squeezing tightly.  "Wrong, Mister Thomas," he sang out.  "Wrong, wrong, wrong.  So wrong, it couldn't be wronger, okay?  You're my best friend in the whole wide world.  So there," he added, for emphasis.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Mac walked into the room without a word and sat down opposite Joseph Darrow.  He laid an evidence bag on the table between the two of them and settled down to wait.  His mouth was a straight line and his posture was deceptively casual.  Inside, he was still fuming.</p><p>Darrow's gaze slid away from the far wall and lingered on the bag, which contained Adam's cell phone.</p><p><em>That's right,</em> Mac thought.  <em>Take a good look.  Let your conscience do the talking.</em></p><p>It was Darrow's conscience that had led him into darkness; Mac was certain of that.  Like the road to Hell, the agent's path was lined with good intentions.</p><p>When did a good man turn into a bad man, exactly?  And was the distinction really that simple?  Mac had seen far too much of life to believe in such a narrow view of human nature.  Besides, he liked Darrow - still liked him, somehow, in spite of everything, which gave his sense of regret an added potency.  There was so much more to this story and he intended to have all the answers.  To make Darrow talk and to find those children.  To fix things, if he could.  But first there was Adam...</p><p>"He's not dead," the agent muttered suddenly, with uncanny timing.</p><p>"I beg your pardon?" Mac replied, even though he had heard the words clearly enough.</p><p>"Adam.  He's not dead.  You have my word on that, Detective Taylor."</p><p>"And I should trust your word because...?"</p><p>Darrow winced.  "I deserve that," he said, nodding slowly.  "But it really doesn't matter if you don't believe me.  It doesn't alter the facts, you see."</p><p>"I'm not here to discuss logic."  Mac folded his arms and frowned, unable to keep his anger from showing by this point.</p><p>"Of course not.  You want me to defend myself, perhaps?  Explain my actions?"</p><p>"Save that for your lawyer - or your priest.  What I want," Mac growled, "are facts."  He stabbed his finger in the direction of Adam's phone.  "Tell me where my lab tech is."</p><p>"I can't," said Darrow helplessly.  "I'm sorry, Detective Taylor; truly I am.  But I've worked so hard, and for far too long, to let this whole thing fall apart because of one man.  Besides, Adam Ross is where he needs to be.  He's safe."</p><p>"He's with the children."  It wasn't a question.</p><p>"Yes," the agent breathed.</p><p>All at once, Mac was very aware of the silent watchers beyond the window.  Exactly how much of his privacy would Adam wish to trade for his freedom?  "By his own volition?" he said carefully.</p><p>Darrow fell back into silence - which gave Mac the answer he needed.</p><p>"Then you kidnapped him," he said bluntly.</p><p>"I did not."  Guilt was in Darrow's eyes, nonetheless.  He knew the truth but he was unwilling to give it a name.  Names had power, and now Mac saw his way in.</p><p>"I'm afraid you did.  You kidnapped all of them, with trickery and lies.  Children, Joseph.  How could you?"</p><p>"I saved them."</p><p>"You made them promises you couldn't keep.  The Piper isn't real.  Aurora is a dreamland, in a virtual world."</p><p>Darrow shook his head violently.  "No," he insisted.  "It's real.  I created it."</p><p>Lowering his voice, Mac leaned in.  "Then show me," he said quietly.</p><p>"It's not for you."</p><p>"Meaning you don't trust me either."</p><p>"I do."  Darrow's face was earnest as he tried to explain.  "That's the problem, don't you see?  You're bound by the law and you have to uphold it.  I respect that; of course I do.  I used to be the same, until...  Let me help you, Detective Taylor.  It's so simple.  If you don't know where they're hiding, then you're free... and so are all my children."</p><p>"Free to leave if they want to?" Mac said pointedly.</p><p>Once again, Darrow lapsed into silence.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Ruth used to think that she was a good judge of character.  Her confidence had taken a battering lately, but still... there was something about this stranger that she couldn't help liking.</p><p>"You really read all my stories?" she asked him, as they made their way through the maze of makeshift rooms.  No one appeared to be taking any notice of their progress, but Ruth was wary.  A large crowd lingered in the kitchen area.  Even so, there were more children scattered around the giant hall.  They had been friendly enough, ever since her arrival - but wouldn't their attitude change if they knew her intention?</p><p>Adam answered cheerfully, much to her surprise.  He seemed to be a man of quicksilver moods.  "I did.  I played the game as well, and I met your friend Elfie."</p><p>Was he watching for her response or simply making conversation, trying to find a common ground between them?  His blue eyes were kind and they crinkled at the corners.  There didn't seem to be any deceit in his steady gaze.</p><p>"Elfie."  Ruth frowned.  "She was my lifeline, you know?  I could tell her anything...  I thought she was just like me.  When I got here, I found out the truth."</p><p>"She's not who you thought she was?" Adam ventured quietly.</p><p>"Just like the Piper."  Pausing, she confronted him.  "Are you working together?  Is this all just another illusion?  Please tell me now, because I don't think I could bear it if I made the same mistake all over again."</p><p>He stood before her, weary, dishevelled and solemn.  The faint smell of alcohol lingered on his clothing and his breath - yet his expression was bright.  "I know exactly what you mean," he said.  "Doesn't this feel like a really weird dream?  Pinch me if you like."  He smiled.  "Go on - do it.  I think it'll help."</p><p>"Ha ha."  She folded her arms.  "That's funny - but you didn't answer my question."</p><p>"True."  The way that he wrinkled his nose was oddly charming.  "I have this problem, okay, where I talk too much if I'm nervous.  It's a character flaw, I'm afraid; not something I can change...  Wish I could...  I don't think my new boss is very impressed..."</p><p>"You're still doing it," Ruth warned him.</p><p>"See what I mean?" he retorted, and she gave a tiny grin.  "Alright then, here we go.  You want to know if I'm working with Darrow... the Piper.  Well, I thought I was, right up until the moment when he spiked my drink and brought me here.  We - I mean the crime lab - we were looking for you, and the others as well.  Darrow's an FBI agent in real life... at least, that's what he told us.  But am I working with him right now?"  He paused to let his words sink in.  "Absolutely not."  Reaching out, he clasped her shoulders firmly - and she let him.  "I would never do anything to hurt a child, Ruth; not <em>ever</em>.  You have my word on that."</p><p>There was a hurt in his eyes that she thought she recognised.</p><p> "I believe you," she whispered.  Twitching her shoulders free, she turned away, deeply affected by the strength of feeling in his answer.  Silently, she set off once again towards their secret destination.  Only the sound of his footsteps told her that he was still following.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Ruth was the kind of girl that Adam could have been good friends with, if the gap between their ages hadn't been so significant - and if they hadn't met under such ridiculous circumstances.  She was scared and yet she fought against her fear with wit and tenacity.  Lindsay had told him how much Jason admired his big sister, and now Adam could see for himself exactly why that was.  He could also imagine the pain Ruth must have felt when she left the little boy behind.  What could have driven her to make such a heart-breaking decision?  Whatever it was, it had to be bad.  For a moment, he thought about asking - <em>yearned</em> to know the answer, even - but now was not the right time.  This new bond between them was precarious.  It was also his only hope.  If he could get out, and find Mac...</p><p>"This way, I think," Ruth announced, startling him out of his reverie.</p><p>"You <em>think</em>?" he quipped, half in earnest.</p><p>"Hey - I've only been here a few days, okay?  It's a really big place."  She paused to consider again, staring back at the scene behind them.  Then she shrugged and darted through the doorway into the corridor beyond.  Adam followed her quickly and shut the door for good measure.  At once, they were plunged into darkness.  There was no natural light here, and no other way to go but forwards.</p><p>"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her seriously.  "I can find my own way from here; I'm sure I can.  I don't want to get you into trouble."</p><p>"I'm already <em>in</em> it," she said with a high, shaky laugh.  "I just want to see Jason.  You promised me, didn't you? Let's go."</p><p>They stumbled along slowly, feeling their way.  Behind them, echoes trailed like a host of children following the leader.  <em>I really hope there's no one there,</em> Adam thought to himself.  The sound was chilling but he strove to ignore it.  As always, he took refuge in verbal distraction.</p><p>"You'll like my boss," he told Ruth.  "Mac Taylor - he's a great guy.  I mean, sure, I've only known him a couple of days but I think you can tell about good people right away, don't you...?  I had this friend, when I was a kid...  It was just the same.  I knew as soon as we met that I was <em>safe</em>..."</p><p>"Why wouldn't you be safe?"  Ruth's voice came floating towards him.</p><p>"Oh," Adam said, "you know..."</p><p>They walked in silence for a while.  Finally, he plucked up the courage to continue.  He knew that Ruth had been waiting.  He thought, perhaps, she had already guessed what he was going to say.</p><p>"Seems like your dad's <em>not</em> such a great guy," he ventured.  "I know, understatement, right?  <em>My</em> dad... well, he's...  He never...  He doesn't like me, okay?  Maybe that was my fault...  We didn't see eye to eye, exactly.  Still don't, even now, though my mom tries to make things better between us whenever I'm home.  Which I haven't been, not for some time."  He flushed.  "I'm rambling again - sorry."</p><p>"Did he hurt you?"  Disembodied, the question was easy to answer, like talking to yourself.</p><p>"Yes, he did."  No need to elaborate.  Both of them knew what that meant, and how it stayed with you, through all the normal, pain-free hours of your everyday life.  <em>I guess we're bonding now,</em> he thought sadly.  Yet Ruth seemed to feel some kind of relief at his confession.</p><p>"Mine too," she said.  He wondered if her cheeks were pale or flaming hot, like his.  "Guess that's why the Piper brought you here, then - don't you think?"</p><p>"Maybe..."  Adam was beginning to develop his own theory about that.  He didn't have time to elaborate, however, as a coldness in the air told him that their situation was about to change.  The door was up ahead, and beyond it, freedom.  Squinting, he could just make out a narrow silver outline, where the light of day shone through the cracks between the frame and the door itself.  Adam felt a surge of optimism.  "Almost there," he said to Ruth.</p><p>"You really are a glass-is-half-full kind of guy, aren't you?"</p><p>"That's me," he grinned.  "Mister Hopeful."</p><p>"You do know the door is locked, right?  I told you that."</p><p>"I remember."  Slowing down, he reached out and let his fingers brush the metal surface.  Exploring the sides systematically, he found the hinges - lumpy and old - and worked across to the lock on the other side.  "Damn," he whispered, tugging on it.  This was the mother of all padlocks, and there was no way of breaking it.  Nor was it a combination lock, so cracking a code was also out of the question.  The rules in this game were <em>so</em> unfair, Adam thought to himself.</p><p>Ruth sounded almost apologetic.  "I did try to tell you."</p><p>"Can't argue with that.  But we're here, right, and I'm not about to give up.  There's always a way, Ruth; believe me."</p><p>"Oh!"  The word was more of an exclamation than a reply.  "Adam, you may be right."</p><p>Okay, that was a turn-up for the books.  "I am?" he said incredulously.  "Right about what?"</p><p>"A way.  There <em>is</em> one.  Right here - look!  I mean, follow the sound of my voice," she added sheepishly.</p><p>He shuffled away from the door and along the corridor until he felt her slim hand reaching out to catch him as he passed.  "Nice fishing," he told her.  "What have you found?"</p><p>She was eager by now, and keen to impress him.  "Stairs.  Leading upwards, unfortunately, but you never know.  We might find a fire escape or something."</p><p>Pleased that she had been inspired by his enthusiasm, Adam hoped for her sake that this wasn't another dead end.  "Well, people always go up in the movies," he agreed.  "Lead on."</p><p>Together, they climbed the stairway, which was narrow and steep.  At the top, they found themselves in a tiny room, lit by three sloping shafts of light.  "Windows," Adam said, full of surprise.  He hadn't noticed them last night, and yet they had to be above the main door, if his sense of direction was accurate.  <em>How drunk was I, exactly?</em> he wondered.  But Ruth had moved closer by now, and she soon set him straight.</p><p>"More like spy holes, I think.  It's that weird kind of glass - old and thick, with a... bullseye?  Is that what they call it?"</p><p>"Clever you," he said, joining her.  Sure enough, the centre of each single pane was rippled in a circular fashion.  If you looked through in a certain way, you could see the whole street, curved and magnified.  Adam peered through eagerly, hoping to find some clue to his location.  An empty world stared back at him, full of blank walls and potholes.  Mounds of trash filled every conceivable corner, as though the city was stock-piling for the end of the world - yet no one was there to see it, or dig through in search of poor-man's treasure.  Even the homeless, it seemed, had forsaken this grey, industrial ghost town.</p><p>Adam blinked and pulled his gaze away.  His optimism was fading but he tried not to show it.  Ruth was relying on him and he could not bear to let her down; not when so many others had failed her.  Turning, he found that she was sifting through a pile of items on a nearby table - books, magazines, empty food wrappers.  "Looks like a janitor's room," she told him, unaware that he was so downhearted.  "I bet the others come here, sometimes."  In her outstretched hand, she held a stubby candle and a little box of matches.  "It'd be a great hideaway."</p><p>"As opposed to the great <em>big</em> hideaway we just came from?" Adam said sarcastically.  He felt guilty when he saw her flinch, but the next moment, his attention was drawn by an old rack of tools on the wall.  He ran his gaze along the plundered contents.  Little was left - a rusty saw with missing teeth: useless.  A drill, with a wheel that had to be turned by hand - <em>yes,</em> Adam thought, <em>and we might be able to drill our way out by Christmas.</em>  The last few items were a mismatched pair of screwdrivers.</p><p>Ruth noticed his frown.  "What's the matter?"</p><p>Instead of replying, he reached out and grabbed the biggest screwdriver.  "Quick - bring the candle," he told her.  "And the matches."</p><p>To her credit, Ruth obeyed without question.  Following him down the stairs, she lit the candle as they reached the bottom.  Its dancing flame was cheerful and filled him with bright hope.  "Hold it close to the hinges," he said.</p><p>A gleam of understanding shone in her eyes, enhanced by the flickering candle.  "Got it," she murmured, telegraphing her admiration with a shy smile.</p><p>He wasn't the strongest person in the world, and the hinges were rusty, but Adam threw his heart and soul into the task.  Whenever his arms grew tired, he would pause for a moment and Ruth would take over, clenching her teeth as she laboured at the task that would free them both.  Out popped one screw, and then another; four screws to every hinge and three sets of hinges...  There was a sheen of sweat across Adam's brow by the time they reached the very last one.  The door was beginning to tilt precariously.  The crack of light had become a dazzling triangle.  Ruth blew out the candle.</p><p>"Ta-daa!" Adam cried with a sense of relief so great it made him dizzy.  The door swung open, held only by the padlock on the other side.</p><p>Ruth dropped the candle and flung her arms around him.  "You're a genius!" she grinned.  He wriggled, and blushed.  "Oh - sorry.  I'm just so happy.  I want to see Jason, right now!"  She shaded her eyes against the daylight and stepped out of the warehouse.  "Which way, do you think?" she asked him, inching to the right as though trying to see how it felt.</p><p>Adam was about to answer when he heard an unwelcome noise behind him - a shuffling series of footsteps that were all too real this time.</p><p>With his back to the corridor, he pulled a silent warning face at Ruth.  Her eyes grew wide but she held her tongue and moved along the street until she came to the edge of the building.  There, she slipped around the corner.</p><p>Adam turned to face the group of children behind him.  He had hoped for one or two.  Five was an unfortunate surprise.  With a fake smile, he tried for levity - but levity failed him. </p><p>"Hey there," he said. "I was just on my way. Thanks for having me…"</p><p>"How dare you!" cried an angry voice. The dark-haired boy who had threatened him yesterday lunged forwards and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him away from the broken door and dragging him right into the centre of the unfriendly group. "Stay away from there. You don't know what you've gone 'n' done!"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. Chapter 40</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Arizona, 1985</strong>
</p><p>Adam wore his new clothes like a suit of armour.  They were stiff and clean, with that special shop-bought smell, and they crinkled whenever he moved.  It almost felt as though they were holding him up; as though, if he took them off again, they would stand up of their own accord now that the warmth of his body had given them life.  Their brightness made him bold and he smiled at Thomas happily.  "I'm Batman," he said, pointing to the iconic hero emblazoned across his chest.</p><p>"Yes, you are," Thomas agreed, enjoying his happiness.  "Something told me you might like that.  How about the shoes?"</p><p>Together, they studied the red sneakers, nestling in their box, top to toe.  Adam shifted his bound feet.  "Maybe..." he said.  "Maybe, if we don't tie up the laces, you know?"  He wanted to wear them so badly.  He knew it was likely to hurt him, but he didn't care.</p><p>"I'll pad them first," Thomas decided.  "Wait there."  As he hurried off to the bathroom for some cotton wool, Adam knelt down and stroked the red canvas with reverence.</p><p>"Hello, shoes," he whispered.  "You're so beau-ti-ful."  From his high perch on the nearby piano, Mr. Boo looked on with something akin to jealousy in his button eyes.  Adam giggled.  "An' you're beautiful too, but I don't want to put you on my feet, okay?"</p><p>"I should hope not."  Thomas stood in the doorway.  "Poor little guy looks like he's been through enough.  Getting that close to a pair of smelly feet goes above and beyond the call of duty, if you ask me..."</p><p>"Hey!" Adam said, making them both laugh.  "My feet don't smell - do they?" he added anxiously.</p><p>"Of course not," Thomas reassured him.  "Adam, don't you know when someone's teasing you?"</p><p>"Oh - sure," he lied and changed the subject quickly.  Pulling one of the shoes from the box, he tackled the laces.  "Let's stuff 'em good.  This'll work, I know it."</p><p>Thomas sat down beside him, crossing his long legs, and helped to deploy the last of the cotton wool balls.  Then, with his front teeth chewing on his lower lip, Adam poked his toes into the first red shoe.  It was a tight fit at first but Thomas worried at the laces until Adam's foot slid all the way down and settled comfortably.  The second shoe was easier.</p><p>"Now stand up," Thomas suggested, tucking the trailing laces out of the way.  "Let's see how you do."</p><p>With a wobble, Adam rose and took a few steps.  Mr. Boo was impressed.  So was Thomas.</p><p>"That looks good," he said.</p><p>"I feel good," Adam nodded.  "I'm never taking these off."</p><p>"Oh, I think you'd better."  Thomas gave a wide grin.  "Keep them safe, though, won't you?"  There was no need to explain.  His meaning was perfectly clear to Adam.</p><p>"Always," the boy said fervently.</p><p>"They won't fit you 'always'."</p><p>"I don't care."  And he didn't; not really.  Shoes were only a small part of the gift that Thomas had granted him, but they were a good way to remember.  "Can I... is it okay if I keep the box?"  He pointed.</p><p>"Yes, of course."  Thomas picked it up and placed it into his hands.  Shuffling over to the piano, Adam picked up Mr. Boo.  The shoe box would make a perfect bed for him when they got home.  "Take these too," Thomas added, placing the new comics inside the box like a brightly decorated quilt.</p><p>"Okay.  Thanks."  Peace filled the room for a moment, as they stood and looked at one another.  "For everything, I mean, Mister Thomas," Adam said at last.  Then he took a deep breath and closed the lid on the shoe box as though he were closing a chapter in his life.  "I'm ready to go now."</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>New York City, 2005</strong>
</p><p>Adam was very aware that he still held the screwdriver in his hand.  But these were children and, in their eyes, he could see how frightened they were; not of him but of this whole situation.  They gazed at the open door, and he knew exactly what they were thinking.</p><p>"Look, I <em>have</em> to leave.  I'm so sorry," he told them quietly.</p><p>"No."  The dark-haired boy was forceful.  His friends - three younger boys and the girl named Gretchen - seemed to defer to him as the leader of their little group.  "No one leaves here."</p><p>Adam stared at him.  "But you did."  In the daylight, everything was clear.  Shadows receded and monsters of the night took human form.  This boy's face was in Mac's office, just like all the other victims.  "Jack.  That's your name, right?  The one you picked for yourself?  They said you'd disappeared again.  Did Darrow bring you back?"</p><p>"I chose it," the boy said proudly.  "He could've left me to rot in that foster home, but he didn't.  An' I could've told on him to the cops when they grabbed me in the Park, but <em>I</em> didn't.  We help each other, see?  That's how it is here."  His words were delivered with so much aggression that they became a challenge.</p><p>"I understand.  I do; believe me. That's why Darrow brought me here as well."  Adam faced each of them slowly, trying to convince them that he was on their side. But the wreckage of the door behind him spoke volumes about his real intention.</p><p>"Liar."  Gretchen's voice was full of contempt.  "You've ruined everything.  You walk out of that door, you damn the lot of us.  Don't you <em>dare</em> turn around and tell us that was Joseph's plan.  He brought you here to help him; that's what he told me.  Looks like he made a big mistake.  I guess you're not the man he thought you were."</p><p>Other people's anger would always be his weakness.  Adam dropped his gaze.  For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the guilt that Gretchen thrust upon him.  What was he thinking?  What had he done?  Did he really have the right to drag these children out of their sanctuary, into the world that had let them down so badly?</p><p>Then he remembered Ruth, and knew his own mind once again.</p><p>"I <em>am</em> here to help," he said, lifting his chin as he locked eyes with Gretchen.  At the same time, he let the screwdriver drop to the floor, where it rolled away into the shadows.  "I'm here to help <em>you.  </em>Help isn't sneaky, it's honest and open.  It's a doorway..."  He pointed behind him.  "Right now, it's <em>that</em> doorway, okay?  You need to walk through it; all of you.  It's time to get on with the rest of your lives..."</p><p>Moved by his earnest words, Gretchen hesitated, as did the others, but Jack was implacable.  "Shut up!" he yelled, like a child in a tantrum.  "Get away from her!"  Lunging forwards, he channelled all of his fury and distress into a heavy rain of blows.  Adam could not - <em>would</em> not retaliate.  He clenched his fists instinctively but did not dare to use them.  As he tried to back away from Jack's irrational onslaught, a simple loss of balance made him stumble and he fell to the ground, reaching out to break his fall - but he landed badly.  Pain shot through his wrist, as it bent too far in the wrong direction.  He hissed, and bit his lip so hard that blood filled his mouth with its warm, metallic taste.</p><p>"Jack, stop!"  One of the younger boys cried out in horror.  "Lookit, he's bleeding!  That's <em>so</em> bad."</p><p>Adam spat onto the concrete and stared at the red mess with dull recognition.  There was a fire burning inside his arm, and he cradled it close to his chest.  "Are you done now?" he demanded - but Jack had already drawn back in dismay.  It was Gretchen who bent down to check on him.</p><p>"Sorry," she whispered, and Adam was grateful for that little kindness.</p><p>"I'm okay," he lied.  "What now?"  It was clear that Jack's power over the group was dwindling.  He hovered in the background as Gretchen stood up again, claiming the role.  Adam hoped that she would be more rational but he couldn't help remembering the way she had looked at him before.</p><p>Gretchen took a long breath and looked around her.  Then she helped him to his feet.  "The door's open," she said.  "That's a fact.  But stepping through...  You think it's easy..."</p><p>"No," Adam told her bluntly.  "I don't."</p><p>The smallest boy stared at the door with dislike.  "I'm not going," he said.  "Out there is scary.  I like it <em>here</em>."</p><p>"So do I, Ben."  Gretchen smiled at him.  "Everyone does.  It's our home now, and that's why we <em>all</em> have to talk about this.  We need to work out what to do, as a family."</p><p>"Great," muttered Jack in a sullen undertone.  "More talking."</p><p>"Oh, and I bet you'd rather stand by the door and fight anyone who tries to go through?"  Gretchen's sarcasm made it clear that this was not a valid option.</p><p>"Yes," Jack vowed, but when Gretchen turned to lead them back to the main hall, he fell into step behind them, scowling mutinously.  Ben pulled a face at him.  Beyond that, the dark-haired boy could have been invisible for all the notice anyone took of his pitiful protest.</p><p>As they moved away from the open door, with its strong light, the shadows deepened and the world grew dark again.  It felt like an omen.</p><p><em>You're going the wrong way,</em> Adam challenged himself, ignoring the pain in his wrist that throbbed in time with every step.  <em>Why don't you leave right now?  You could break free and run for it...</em></p><p><em>No,</em> said his conscience.</p><p>Every action comes with its own set of consequences.  Adam could almost feel the waves of causality rippling out from that moment when he had forced the door open.  Now Ruth was on the other side, and she could go for help - if indeed she chose to do so.  Adam had done his best to save her.  From now on, his responsibility was to the rest of the children; these prisoners who believed they were free, but who trembled at the first sign of real freedom.</p><p><em>No, Adam - you're the prisoner,</em> he sighed, with unexpected humour, as Gretchen adjusted her grip on his good arm.  Her faith in her own strength was laughable too - but Adam chose not to disillusion her by wrenching free.  Acts of violence did not belong within these walls; the reaction to Jack's display had made that very clear.  Adam's heart was in his throat and his pulse was a drum beat in his head but he schooled his features into a pleasant mask and trotted along beside Gretchen, trying to gain her trust once again with his meek behaviour.</p><p>Biding his time.</p><p>
  <strong>-x0x-</strong>
</p><p>Outside the door, Ruth was shivering.</p><p>She wasn't cold; not exactly.  There was a brightness to the morning air that filled her with joy when it greeted her - but that joy was slowly being smothered by her fear.  Moments ago, she had known exactly what she wanted.  Now her path lay in two opposing directions - and which one should she choose?  Ahead was her brother, and how she longed to see him!  More than anything, she longed to apologise and hold him tightly in her arms.  He would wriggle, she knew, and protest that he wasn't a baby, but his eyes would be shining all the same and, if she squeezed him tightly enough, he would trust her when she promised never to leave again.</p><p>Behind was an open door, and Adam.</p><p>She didn't know the man; not really.  She didn't owe him anything...</p><p>And yet.  And yet he had come there for <em>her</em>.  He had taken the time to read her stories and get to know her, this girl he had never met before.  He had followed the trail that she laid down, unknowingly, and then he had set her free.</p><p>"I'm free," she whispered out loud.  A passing breeze took hold of the words and lifted them into the sky, high above the place that had been her secret hope for so long.  It was all a sham - but the others still believed in it.  <em>How terrible their lives must be,</em> she thought, <em>if four ugly walls and a shared delusion can make them happy.</em></p><p>Her life had been terrible too, but that didn't seem to matter anymore.  Ruth felt as though she had aged immeasurably in these last few days.  Childhood was behind her and her  future lay beyond.  Everything turned on the choice that she had to make, right here and now.  She could feel it, like a deep breath.  The world was waiting.</p><p>Inside, through the open doorway, she heard shouting followed by a squeal of pain.</p><p>"Oh, no!" she gasped.  Was it Adam, or one of the others?  She darted forwards, driven by the aching need to see... but the sounds of violence died away before she reached the door and suddenly she paused again.  The shock had cleared her mind and, all at once, she knew exactly what to do.  In the end, the answer was obvious.</p><p>No one had come out to find her.  None of them knew where she was, or even cared.  Only Adam, and what had he told her? Ruth closed her eyes and tried to remember the name that he had clung to.</p><p>Mac...</p><p><em>My boss,</em> Adam had said with pride.  <em>Mac... Taylor!</em>  Yes, that was it.  The person who made him feel safe.  Adam had promised that this man could help them all.</p><p>Ruth backed away from the door, feeling nervous.</p><p>"Mac Taylor," she repeated.  "Somewhere in New York City...  Piece of cake."</p><p>Daunted by the enormity of her quest, she closed her eyes and let her imagination twist it into a guise that gave her confidence.  "It's a story," she told herself.  "Just another story, that's all.  I'm the damsel and I have to save the knight in distress."  That made a smile break out on her face as she stepped into the middle of the empty street.  The bright little wind danced along at her heels, trailing rubbish like confetti.</p><p>"On we go, then," Ruth said grimly.</p><p> </p>
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